by Janet Dailey
Not until she heard the sliding door to the balcony open and close did she enter her bedroom. She was emotionally shaken by the feelings and sensations he had aroused. She knew she couldn't sleep so she walked to the window, gazing out at the moon casting a pale silvery light on the sand.
In seconds Cole was in her view, long strides carrying him toward the waves. His hands were thrust deep in his pockets and his attention fixed on the ground. Lacey watched him until he walked out of her sight, striding along the beach into the night.
Changing into her pajamas, she crawled into bed. She didn't attempt to close her eyes as she listened to the clock on the bedside table tick the seconds away. The hands of the clock were nearly clasped together to signal the midnight hour when she finally heard Cole enter thc house.
His pace had slowed considerably as he wandered into the hallway, He stopped outside her door. When she saw the doorknob turn, she closed her eyes, feigning sleep.
Opening the door, Cole made no attempt to enter the room, but stared at her for several silent minutes before he closed the door. She heard him walk to his own room. The pounding of her heart became almost an aching pain as she turned onto her side and tried to sleep.
Eight
* * *
The next morning Lacey awoke early from habit. She lay in bed for several minutes listening to the sounds of Cole stirring about.
Finally she climbed out of bed, realizing that she couldn't get back to sleep and that she would have to get up sooner or later. Pulling on her housecoat, she walked into the hall.
At that moment Cole stepped out of his room softly whistling a tuneless melody. He was wearing swimming trunks, chocolate brown with tan stripes. He smiled when he saw her.
"Good morning," he greeted her cheerfully.
"You must have been up for a while," Lacey observed, her own voice still husky from sleep.
"I have. How did you know? Did I wake you?" he questioned, waiting for her and falling into step beside her.
"No, you didn't. I just guessed you'd been up because you're usually grouchy when you first wake up," she replied.
He reached out and ruffled her short hair. "You aren't exactly Miss Sunshine when you first get up in the mornings, either," he commented.
"Don't do that!" she protested, and tried to brush her hair down with the flat of her hand.
"See what I mean?" He winked, an impish light dancing in his dark blue eyes.
"I never have claimed to be Miss Sunshine," she pointed out. "Did you make coffee?"
"Not yet. I was on my way out for a morning swim before breakfast, hoping you'd be up and have it ready when I came in," he replied with engaging honesty, the mocking amusement still gleaming in his look.
"You could have fixed it and had it ready for me when I got up," she countered, unable to take offense this early in the day.
"I could have," he agreed. "Would you like to come for a swim with me? I'll wait."
"No, thanks," Lacey refused, not glancing at his lean, browned physique, which was altogether too disturbingly virile for her senses to cope with when she wasn't fully awake yet.
"Okay," he shrugged, branching away from her toward the balcony door. "I'll see you later."
He seemed to take much of the morning sunshine with him when he left. Lacey halfheartedly fixed the coffee pot and plugged it in. She took her orange juice onto the balcony, her gaze searching the waves until she found Cole. He was a strong swimmer, as she had guessed he would be. She watched him for a long time before finally reminding herself to get dressed.
Showering first, she put on shorts of tan plaid with a white boat-necked top. The coffee was perked when she returned to the kitchen. She poured a cup and wandered again to the balcony, her gaze once more drawn magnetically to the beach.
Two figures caught her attention. One was Cole wading out of the ocean, lifting a hand in greeting to the second figure. It was the woman in the sunbonnet to whom Lacey had talked the previous morning.
She paled slightly as Cole stopped to talk to the woman searching the beach for shells. His tanned body glistened like bronze from the moistness of the water beading over his skin.
Lacey had no idea what the two were talking about, but Cole was listening with obvious attention. Once he glanced to the house, spying Lacey on the balcony.
Apprehension shivered over her skin. The woman surely wouldn't mention her impression that she and Cole were living together. Surely she wouldn't be that bold?
Soon Cole was nodding a goodbye to the woman, his long legs striding across the sands to the balcony stairs. Lacey was tempted to retreat into the house, but she forced herself to stand her ground and react calmly to his return.
"Did you have a good swim?" she asked.
"Great." His hair glistened darkly in the sunlight as he effortlessly took the steps two at a time to reach the top. "Ah, the coffee's done," he said, seeing the cup in Lacey's hand.
"I'll get you a cup," she offered quickly, finding an excuse to leave.
"It can wait." He walked to the railing near her, leaning both hands on it and gazing silently at the ocean beyond.
Then, unexpectedly, he looked at her, his gaze piercing yet with a roguish glint in it. He was so vibrant and male, a bronzed statue come to life, that her breath was coming in uneven spurts.
"I just had a very intriguing conversation with that woman on the beach," he said. "A Mrs. Carlyle — she lives a few houses down. Do you know her?"
Something in the inflection of his voice told Lacey that he already knew the answer, possibly recognizing the woman from yesterday.
"I talked to her for a few minutes the other day," she admitted, "but I didn't know her name." Slightly flustered, she knew there was a tinge of pink in her cheeks. She sipped quickly at her coffee, pretending the tepid liquid was hot. "She collects shells and makes things with them, jewelry and such."
"So she told me — among other things." There was a hint of laughter in his reply, but his mockingly intent gaze did not relent an inch. "I'm curious about what you told her."
"Me?" Lacey swallowed nervously.
"You're aware that Mrs. Carlyle is under the impression that we're living together in the immoral interpretation of the phrase?" he murmured.
"I was afraid she thought that," Lacey admitted after a second's hesitation.
"What did you tell her?" he prodded, a smile playing with the corners of his mouth.
"She assumed we were married and I automatically said you weren't my husband. She drew her own conclusions from that," she explained self-consciously.
"And you didn't correct her assumption?"
"It would have been such a long drawn-out story, and she was a stranger." She shrugged and curled both hands around her coffee cup. "What did she say to you?"
"I was on the receiving end of a very stern lecture." The creases deepened on either side of his mouth, his amusement at Lacey's obvious discomfort.
"Oh," was all she could think to say, and she stared at her half-empty cup of coffee.
Cole reached out and removed the cup from her hands, setting it on a deck table. Before she could protest that action, he was curving both arms around her. She pressed her hands against his chest, her fingers coming in contact with the cloud of moist dark hairs.
"She was trying to convince me that if I had any respect for you at all, I'd make an honest woman out of you." He smiled down at her, the dampness of his legs against her thighs evoking a roughly warm sensation. "And I haven't even found out how dishonest you can be."
"Cole, please!" Her throat had constricted and she had to force the words out.
He bent his head to brush his mouth over the soft curve of her jaw. The tangy ocean scent clinging to his skin assailed her senses, already turned upside down by his touch. He teased the sensitive skin of her neck, his breath dancing warm over her flesh.
"Shall I make an honest woman out of you, Lacey?" he mused playfully, not a serious note in his voice.
She quickly swallowed to ease the tightness in her throat and pushed away from his disturbing nearness. "Don't be ridiculous, Cole!" She couldn't joke about a thing like marriage.
He made no attempt to recapture her as he watched her widen the distance between them with quick, retreating steps. Yet behind the, glitter of teasing amusement, his expression seemed to be curiously guarded and alert.
"Maybe I should make a dishonest woman of you first," he said again in that same laughing tone, to indicate he was teasing.
Lacey felt light-headed and quite unable to match his bantering words. "Maybe you should have some coffee to sober you up. You've had either too much ocean or too much sun," she suggested.
"I don't want coffee now" The inflection of his answer implied he wanted something else.
The undercurrents vibrating in the air seemed to increase in voltage. Lacey paled, unsure how much more of this electrically charged atmosphere she could tolerate before succumbing to its force. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Cole moved unexpectedly.
But he swept past her, speaking abruptly. "I'll shower and dress first, then have coffee."
"I'll start breakfast," she offered, in need of something to say. She was trembling uncontrollably from the aftershocks, but Cole wasn't there to see her reaction.
Bacon was sizzling in the skillet when he entered the kitchen, wearing khaki trousers and a short-sleeved pullover top of white knit. The clinging fabric accented the width of his shoulders and molded the muscled leanness of his torso. The clean fragrance of soap mingled with the musky scent of his after-shave lotion.
Lacey couldn't help being aware of the heady combination as he helped himself to the coffee and moved to the counter near the stove. He was brimming with vitality, positively overpowering her with the force of his presence. She began turning the bacon strips to keep them from burning, aware that he was watching her intently with his disconcerting gaze.
"Do you have to stare at me like that?" she asked impatiently, not letting her own gaze wander from the frying bacon in the skillet. "It makes me feel as if I've suddenly grown two heads."
"Sorry." Offhandedly Cole made the apology and sipped at his coffee. "Do you have any plans for today?"
"Plans?" she echoed.
"Yes." A brow twisted in amusement at the darting blank look she gave him. "Are you expecting Bowman or anyone over for the day?"
"No, he didn't mention he'd be stopping by," she qualified, and added a glob of butter to the egg skillet, turning on the fire beneath it.
The bacon grease popped, splattering the back of her hand, and she jumped back from the stove with a muffled exclamation of pain. Cole immediately had a hold of her arm, practically dragging her to the sink. Turning on the cold water tap, he thrust her hand beneath the running water.
"Keep it there," he ordered.
"The bacon will burn," protested Lacey.
"I'll watch it. You just let that cold water run on that burn for a while," he ordered, moving back to the stove to rescue the bacon. Lacey did as she was told, and the stinging pain was gradually reduced to a numbness.
"How does it feel?" he asked when she turned off the water to dry her hand.
"It's fine." There was a barely discernible red mark where the hot grease had splattered on her hand.
"Aren't you going to ask me why I was wondering if you'd made any plans for today?" He broke an egg into the melted butter in the second skillet.
She hesitated. "Why?"
"I thought if you hadn't made any other arrangements, we'd drive over to the Eastern Shore for the day." He added another egg to the skillet. "How would you like your eggs cooked?"
"Over easy." Lacey answered his last question first; it was the easiest.
"What about going over to the Eastern Shore?"
"It sounds like a good idea," she agreed.
"Good," he nodded. "Have you put the bread in the toaster yet?"
"Not yet." And Lacey reached for the bread.
An hour later their breakfast was over and the dishes washed, and they were on their way to the Eastern Shore of Virginia. Traversing the seventeen-mile-long Chesapeake Bay bridge-tunnel, Lacey watched a navy ship some distance away in the Atlantic Ocean to her right. Its silhouette moved steadily closer to the ship channel leading to the waters of Chesapeake Bay on her left.
But Lacey didn't look to her left at the warships and merchant vessels more easily viewed in the waters of the bay. The confines of the car had heightened her awareness of Cole, if that was possible.
Without glancing at him, she was conscious of everything about him, from the way his dark brown hair curled near his shirt collar to the strength of his sun-browned hands on the wheel. An inbred radar system seemed tuned strictly to his presence.
"Any place special you want to see when we get over there?" he asked, his gaze sliding from the road to her for a brief instant.
"No." Lacey shook her head, unable to think of a single place she particularly wanted to visit.
"Let' s drive to Chincoteague," he suggested.
They were approaching the concrete island in the bay where the bridge dipped beneath the water to become the tunnel under the ship channel.
"That's nearly a hundred miles, isn't it?" She frowned, turning to study his strongly defined profile.
"About that," he agreed blandly. The cavernous tunnel swallowed them, a ribbon of lights overhead.
She glanced at her watch. "Do you realize how late it will be when we get back? You have to work tomorrow. You should have an early night."
There was a wry, upward curve of his mouth, but his gaze never left the tunnel stretching ahead of them. "Let's avoid the subject of sleep and beds, Lacey, and enjoy the day," he suggested.
Jerking her head to the front, she stared straight ahead at the sunlight beckoning at the tunnel exit. A spurt of anger flashed through her at his unnecessary comment.
His hand reached out to clasp the back of her neck. His fingers felt the taut muscles and began to massage them gently.
"Relax, Lacey," he ordered in a coaxing tone. "And stop hugging the car door. I'm not going to bite."
"Aren't you?" she retorted, already stung by the point of Cupid's arrow.
"I promise." He smiled. "No bites — not even an occasional nibble!"
With that his gaze slid to the exposed curve of her throat, its brushing touch as effective as a caress. Immediately he withdrew his hand and returned it to the steering wheel.
"This afternoon we're just going to be a couple taking a Sunday drive," he stated.
And Lacey felt a twinge of regret that it was to be so, regardless of how sensible it was. But it was only because he was so attractive. She managed a stiff smile of agreement to his suggestion.
The Cape Charles lighthouse poked its silhouette into the skyline, signaling that land was near. Shortly the bridge curved to an end on the jutting finger of land that was Virginia's Eastern Shore.
The modern highway carved its way up the length of the unspoiled peninsula. Lacey caught glimpses of the windswept Atlantic coast and the islands scattered out from its beaches.
It was impossible to remain immune to the charm of the landscape for long. Its beauty was tireless, entrapping her in its spell, the minutes slipping by as fast as the miles.
As they neared the Maryland border, Cole turned off the main highway, crossing the bridge to the island of Chincoteague. They traveled through the small town of the same name and on across a second bridge to Assateague Island.
Declared a national seashore, the island was the refuge for the wild Chincoteague ponies, believed to be descendants of horses from the wreck of a Spanish galleon more than four hundred years ago. On the island they ran free as their ancestors did, drinking from the freshwater pools and grazing in the nutritious salt marshes. Inbreeding over the years had stunted the horses to pony size, yet the clean-limbed, delicate conformation remained in the descendants.
To keep the herds' numbers at a level the island f
ood supply could support, there was a roundup every year by the residents of neighboring Chincoteague Island. The sick and injured among the ponies were treated and a certain number of the new crop of foals was sold at auction.
Although there was a bridge to connect the Assateague Island refuge with Chincoteague Island, tradition demanded that the ponies swim the short distance between the two islands. The annual July event drew thousands of visitors to witness it and attend the auction.
There was no one around, though, when Cole and Lacey spied a herd of the small ponies and stopped to watch them. The pinto stallion kept a wary eye on them and they took care not to alarm him. He tolerated their presence at that distance, leaving Lacey and Cole free to watch the antics of a cavorting pair of young foals.
The approach of a second party was more than the stallion would permit to invade his domain. With his head snaking low to the ground, he began moving his mares away, nipping at the recalcitrant ones slow to obey his commands.
"They're beautiful!" Lacey breathed when the last of the ponies trotted out of sight ahead of the stallion.
"Are you glad you came?" Cole asked, smiling.
"Of course," she responded naturally, the bemused light still in her brown eyes.
"So am I," he agreed, and glanced at his watch. "We aren't likely to see any more this afternoon. I don't know about your stomach, but mine says it's been a long time since breakfast. Let's go back to Chincoteague and find a place to have dinner before starting back."
The summer sun was setting as they finally began the trek back to Virginia Beach. Its golden glow gave a serene ending to a relaxing afternoon and evening. Somewhere along the long ride, Lacey closed her eyes and forgot to open them. The next thing she was aware of was a hand gently nudging her awake.
"We're home, Strawberry," Cole's low voice came to her through the drugging mists of sleep.
Lazily raising her lashes, she focused on his bent figure, holding the car door open. She smiled at him, unaware of the curious dreamlike quality to her expression.