by Janet Dailey
With a quick tug, she pulled her wrist free of his hold and turned away. She could feel his gaze on her, compelling her back. She had to force herself to walk calmly and unhurriedly from him and not give in to the impulse to bolt to the safety of her room.
As she closed the bedroom door behind her, reaction set in, trembling through her with a violence that had her shaking. She was dangerously attracted to him. She recognized the symptoms, the combustible mixing of their two chemistries.
Cole was aware of it, too. He probably found her an attractive and highly available woman. His desire was part of the inherent danger of sharing the same house. Lacey knew she could never accept him as a temporary lover. It was neither wise nor sane.
A tear slipped from her lashes, its moistness surprising her as it trailed down her cheek. She flicked it away with her finger and began undressing for bed with jerky, harried, movements.
One tear followed another. By the time she had her pajamas on and was crawling into bed, her cheeks were damp from the confusing sadness that made her heart ache.
As she was about to switch off the bedside light, her door was pushed open. Paralyzed, her fingers remained on the switch, unable to move. Cole stood in the doorway, his masculine bulk filling the frame. The roughly planed features of his face were set in implacable lines, cast half in shadow by the uneven light streaming over him. The rich umber shade of his hair gleamed nearly black. His eyes seemed afire with purpose and smoldering desire.
A wave of intense longing washed through Lacey and she rushed to deny it.
"Cole, I'm going to bed," she declared shakily.
"Yes," he agreed with a snap. His long strides carried him into the room, all the way to her bed. "But in my bed — where you belong!"
As he reached for her, Lacey made a strangled attempt to protest before realizing that words wouldn't stop him. She grabbed for the spare pillow on the double bed and threw it at him, hoping for a few seconds to escape his hands. But he knocked it aside with a swing of his arm and succeeded in grasping her waist before she could slide out the other side of the bed.
Effortlessly he slung her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Her bare feet flailed the air, finding no target. Her doubled fists, however, had a ready target and she pummeled at his broad shoulders and back, screaming abusively at his caveman tactics.
"Scream a little louder," Cole taunted insensitively. "No one can hear you, and you haven't broken my eardrums yet."
"You put me down!" Lacey choked.
The door to his bedroom was ajar and he kicked it the rest of the way open to carry her in and dump her unceremoniously on his bed. Her startled cry was muffled by the pillow onto which she fell. Stunned, it took her a second to react.
Rolling onto her side, she saw Cole shrugging out of his shirt. Along with it he seemed to be shedding the thin veneer of civilization that separated man from beast. Her stomach constricted at the sight of the naked expanse of chest, powerfully muscled yet sinuously lean.
As he reached to unbuckle his belt, she recovered from that momentary pang of desire and started to finish her roll off the bed. His hand snaked out to grip her shoulder and force her back.
The mattress sagged as it took his weight. Her struggles were to no avail as his superior strength pinned her shoulders to the bed. Half lying across her as he was, the crushing weight of his chest flattened her breasts. The body heat of his flesh burned through the thin silky material of her pajamas.
Her hands strained against the rippling muscles of his upper arms, futilely trying to push him away. By turning her head far to the side, she managed to elude his searching mouth, but that didn't stop it from exploring the area of her cheek and neck she had exposed. Despite her panicked attempts to get free, a response to his rough caresses shivered through her.
"Cole, what about the ground rules?" she gasped in alarm, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs.
"To hell with the ground rules," was his terse reply.
The warmth of his breath seemed to set fire to her skin, the flames quickly spreading, her flesh a ready tinderbox to be sparked by his touch. She didn't know how to douse the fire he was starting.
"You're tired, Cole. You don't know what you're doing," she protested weakly, not certain any longer if she knew what she was doing herself, or why.
"Maybe," he agreed in a throaty murmur that caressed her spine with its gruff, soft sound. "But I'm enjoying it, whatever it is."
His fingers slid beneath her cheek, curling into the short hair near her ear. He twisted her face toward him, his mouth at last finding the softness of her lips. Hungrily he explored their sweetness, devouring their token resistance until they were moving in response to his demands.
There was a roaring in her ears and Lacey realized it was the pounding of her heartbeat she heard. When her hands curled into his shoulders to cling to him, Cole shifted his attention, nuzzling her earlobe and chuckling softly in triumph.
"And you're enjoying it, too, little strawberry girl. Don't deny it." Lightly he nipped her skin, the tiny pain becoming exquisite pleasure.
Her surrender wasn't complete and she began a protest, "Cole …"
"Strawberry girl," he repeated, his moist mouth investigating the trembling curves of her lips. And the protest died in her throat. "Green and tart in the morning, ripely red and sweet at night."
Then his mouth was closing over hers again, his burning kiss drawing her into the vortex of his desire. Everything went spinning. Lacey felt like a wheel of fortune being spun around and around without knowing where or when she would stop, nor who would win or lose. It was a wild, dizzying merry-go-round.
His hands seemed to know exactly where to touch her and arouse her to the full pitch of sensual awareness. Boneless, she let her feminine curves be molded to fit his hard length.
Her hands slid over the steel-smooth skin of his back. She felt the pressure of his male need and the answering empty ache within her lower body.
At that instant she realized that she was losing control. She was letting herself be trapped in the whirlpool of his lust, the very thing she knew she didn't dare do.
"Don't do this, Cole, please," she whispered in aching protest, turning away from the drugging prowess of his kiss, a narcotic that was very, addictive.
"Lacey, for God's sake," he muttered thickly, seeking her lips, "you know you want me to love you. I'll make you admit it."
Yes, she did want him to love her, but not just in the physical sense. And his statement reaffirmed that belief. She continued her resistance.
"Do you always bully your women into submission?" She choked on the accusing demand.
Cole breathed in tightly, levering himself up on one elbow, the brilliant blue of his gaze glittering darkly over her profile. Lacey knew the advantage was hers and she couldn't weaken.
"Damn you, Lacey," he groaned finally, and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him.
His wide palm pressed her head against his bare chest, rising and falling in uneven breathing. Lacey could hear the hammering of his heart. Its beat was as erratic and aroused as her own.
She closed her eyes tightly, letting the circling steel band of his arms crush her to the comforting warmth of his chest.
He simply held her, making no further attempt to caress her or to carry out his threat to make her admit that she desired him as much as he wanted her. And she felt no fear in this embrace. The likelihood of seduction had suddenly faded.
But it was a long time before his pulse settled into a steady tempo and his breathing became relaxed and level. The contentment of lying in his arms was nearly as satisfying as his experienced lovemaking.
This warm glow and the late hour combined to make her eyelids heavy with sleep. Unwillingly she realized she had to leave the comfort of his arms, but as she started to disentangle herself from his holds, his muscles tightened, not letting her go.
"Stay here, Strawberry." His voice was husky with sleep, a drowsily warm sound
that she couldn't bring herself to fight.
Cole, too, was minutes away from sleep. Lacey snuggled against his body heat, assuring herself that she would stay just until he fell asleep, then she would leave. At her lack of protest, he sighed, his breath stirring the feathery shortness of her hair.
It wasn't easy staying awake. The one thing that helped Was the bedroom window that was propped open. The cool breeze blowing in from the ocean and moving the curtains danced over her skin, its brisk chill just enough to keep her awake and aware of her surroundings.
At one particularly strong gust, Lacey shivered. Cole immediately shifted her from his chest, reaching down to pull the covers over both of them before nestling her against his side again. The bed then became a warm cocoon, relaxing and safe.
"Go to sleep, Strawberry," he whispered, and brushed his mouth briefly across her hair. Despite the casualness of the good-night caress, there was something intimately familiar about it.
"Yes," Lacey replied.
But of course she wouldn't really go to sleep. She was only pretending to agree. When Cole was asleep she would leave, she reminded herself.
Her lashes fluttered tiredly down and she decided to rest her eyes just for a few minutes. His arm was a heavy warm band around her waist, possessive and gentle.
Seven
* * *
The alarm buzzed loudly, almost right in Lacey's ear. She struggled to open her eyes, not understanding why it should be so loud.
A heavy weight was around her waist, pressing her to the mattress. She started to push it aside, irritated by the buzz and wishing Cole would shut his alarm clock off just once in the mornings.
As her fingers touched the weight, she felt the roughness of wiry hair and discovered the weight was an arm — Cole's arm, to be precise.
Instantly she was wide awake, remembering the events of last night — or more correctly, early morning. And the hard, long shape in the bed beside her was Cole.
Careful not to disturb him, she reached out, her fingertips just able to reach the alarm switch to turn off the noisy buzz. For once she was glad that Cole slept through his alarms. It would give her a chance to slip out of bed before he awakened.
But as she tried to slide away from him, he reached for her. "Don't move, Strawberry." His voice was thick with sleep.
Lacey guessed that it was a momentary alertness and within seconds he would again be sound asleep. "Your belt buckle is poking me," she lied, to explain the reason she had moved away from him.
Cole mumbled something unintelligible and rolled onto his side. Lacey remained completely still for several minutes until she was satisfied that he had fallen asleep. Then she slid silently out of bed and tiptoed to her own room.
Dressed and with coffee made and a glass of orange juice in her hand, she walked back to Cole's room. She paused in the doorway, gazing at the soundly sleeping figure. Sighing, she remembered how late it had been last night before Cole had slept, and the previous night when he had fallen asleep on the sofa. She simply couldn't bring herself to waken him and deprive him of the sleep he needed.
Turning around, she walked back to the kitchen and put the glass of juice in the refrigerator. The morning sunlight glistened on the ocean, reflecting its light into the living room.
With a cup of coffee in hand, Lacey moved onto the balcony. She hesitated, then descended the steps to the inviting stretch of empty beach. The silence of the morning was broken only by the waves licking the shore and the occasional cry of a seagull on the wing.
Only it wasn't quite empty, she discovered as she strolled along the sand. An older woman in a sunbonnet with jeans rolled up to her calves was wandering along, intent upon the treasures washed up by the tide.
Sitting down on the sand, Lacey watched the woman for a while before the soaring acrobatics of a seagull attracted her attention. The ocean was in one of its serene moods, its surface calm.
The peace surrounding Lacey caught her in its spell. She sat quietly on the sand, not conscious of thinking about anything, her mind seemingly blank.
Time seemed to slip away, the quarter hours seeming like seconds, so swiftly did they fly. Only the growing brightness of the rising sun and the increasing warmth of its rays offered any change. The ocean and sky remained the same and the woman was still scouring the beach for shells and driftwood.
"Lacey!" Cole impatiently shouted her name, breaking off the lonely cry of a gull.
Turning slightly on the sand to look over her shoulder, she saw him standing on the balcony, naked to the waist. Even at this distance, she could see how wrinkled his trousers were after their night of being slept in. His dark hair was tousled and he was attempting to comb it into order with his fingers.
She waved to him, her heart somersaulting in reaction to the blatant virility he possessed so early in the morning. It was impossible not to feel the attraction he radiated, primitively male and powerful.
"Why didn't you wake me?" he accused. "I was supposed to be at the office an hour ago."
"I thought you needed your sleep!" Lacey cupped her hands to her mouth to shout the answer.
"The next time, don't think. Wake me up!" His answering shout sounded more like a roar.
As he turned from the railing to enter the house, she stuck her tongue out at him, more amused than angered by his grouchy behavior.
Rising, she wandered toward the water. The woman combing the sand for seashells glanced up, and a smile wreathed her face, which was sun-lined despite the protective bonnet she wore.
"It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" she commented.
"It certainly is," Lacey agreed, and paused near the woman. "Have you found very much this morning?"
"Nothing spectacular." The woman straightened from her bent position and pressed a hand to the small of her back.
"Do you collect shells?" Lacey glanced curiously at the pail slung over the woman's arm.
"Well, yes, I do," she admitted after a second's hesitation. "But my main hobby is making things with shells and other objects that I find on the beach,"
"Like jewelry?" Lacey asked, noticing the string of shell beads around the woman's neck.
The woman touched the necklace with her finger. "Yes, jewelry — mostly earrings and necklaces. At the moment I'm making a picture with shells. That's why I'm collecting all of these little mauve shells," she explained, reaching into the bucket to lift out a handful of the tiny shells. "There are any number of things you can make with shells — mobiles, wind chimes, lots of things."
"Sounds fascinating," murmured Lacey with a trace of envy in her voice. Her creative talents seldom stretched to more than attempting a floral arrangement from time to time.
"It's very enjoyable," the woman stated. "And now that I've retired, it keeps me busy."
"Lacey!" Cole was calling to her again and she turned to the house in answer. He stood on the balcony, this time dressed in a tan leisure suit. "I'm leaving now. I'll see you tonight."
Lacey waved her understanding of his shouted message. After a brief salute, he walked into the house. She smiled faintly to herself, amused by the difference a morning cup of coffee and a shower could make to his disposition.
"That was thoughtful of your husband," the woman commented. "My John always lets me know when he's leaving the house, too."
"Cole isn't my husband." Lacey made the correction automatically and without thinking.
"Oh." The woman was momentarily startled by the answer. "Oh!" The second time, the word was drawn out with dawning understanding and a widened look of shock and vague disapproval at her conclusion.
Lacey went scarlet, realizing that the implication of her statement was that she and Cole were living together although unmarried. Correcting the impression would involve a long, detailed explanation of the circumstances surrounding their decision to share the house. But Lacey didn't attempt to justify their arrangement. She wasn't certain the woman would believe her anyway.
"I have some cleaning t
o do at the house. Have a nice day." Lacey offered, and self-consciously made her exit from the beach.
As she walked away, she heard the woman murmuring to herself, "These young people nowadays — they seem to have lost all sense of moral values!"
Lacey compressed her lips into a thin line and kept walking.
In actual fact, there was very little to do at the house, but she puttered around doing odds and ends, watering the plants, taking care of some hand washing until after noon. With a sandwich and some fruit, she lunched on the balcony, then settled into one of the lounge chairs with a book.
The sun was warm and relaxing. Its effect combined with the lack of regular sleep over the last two nights made her drowsy, and soon she was setting her book aside to take a short nap.
The next time she opened her eyes, they focused on the familiar brown leather briefcase. Immediately she looked for its Owner and found Cole sitting in one of the deck chairs, his long legs stretched out in front of him and a can of beer in his hand. Dark spiky lashes screened the expression in his eyes, but he was watching her.
His mouth twitched briefly in a smile. "So you're finally going to wake up, sleepyhead. I thought for a while that you were going to sleep around the clock."
Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, Lacey pushed herself up on an elbow, ignoring his teasing comment to ask, "What time is it?"
"Four-thirty or thereabouts." He shrugged, uninterested in the exact time although his gold watch was around his wrist, making it easily verified.
"I didn't realize I was so tired." She rubbed her eyes and covered another yawn with her hand. "How long have you been here?"
"Since shortly after two."
Which was only a little while after she had fallen asleep. "You haven't been sitting there all that time?" She blinked in disbelief.
Cole nodded. "Watching you sleep."
The grogginess was leaving rapidly and she was becoming more alert with each passing second. And she noticed the faint suggestion of weariness in his posture.