The Ready-Made Family (Silhouette Special Edition) Page 13

  There. That was all she had to say. She turned to leave.

  A hand caught her arm and whirled her around. Her shoulders were seized, and she was lifted almost off her feet.

  “You sanctimonious little prude.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said in the haughtiest voice she could muster. She pulled the ragged edges of her righteous dignity around her. After all, she hadn’t stood out in the moonlight for an hour talking to some stranger.

  Their noses were no more than two inches apart. She stubbornly held his glare, giving as good as she got.

  He smiled suddenly. It only made him look more dangerous—a wild, fierce savage that she was begin- ning to think she had misjudged when she’d made her grand plans.

  “You should.” He let her down slowly. His hands rubbed up and down her arms gently, belying the harsh- ness of his tone.

  “Well, I don’t see why. I have nothing to apologize for.” Really, he was impossible to understand.

  “For your evil thoughts.” He snorted in exaspera- tion. “It’s a strange turn of events when a married man has to go for midnight swims in order to rest. I have a wife who’s supposed to take care of my marital needs.”

  Her anger surged at his accusing tone. “I really don’t care to discuss this.”

  He laughed, a soft, sultry sound that scared her more than his fit of temper. “You’re right. Words solve noth- ing between us. Maybe it’s time you lived up to your part of our bargain.”

  She gazed up at him in stony silence. She became aware of the silence surrounding them, of the late hour, of moonlight falling like silver on the patio, of the fact that she was in her nightgown and robe and he was in…nothing.

  “Wasn’t I the perfect host tonight? Didn’t I make every effort to ensure Martha saw a sweet little family nest here? She was impressed as all get-out by our happy home. Don’t I deserve a reward for that?”

  “I…I…” Her throat closed. She shook her head.

  “No?”

  His breath fanned over her face. She detected the scent of liquor. “You’ve been drinking,” she accused.

  “I had a brandy, thinking that might help me sleep. It didn’t. After reading a bit, a swim seemed like a good idea. Not expecting company at this late hour, I didn’t consider a suit necessary.” His laughter was harsh. “Imagine my surprise at finding my wife, dressed for bed, outside my door. I naturally assumed she had come to honor her marriage vows.”

  She made a strangled protest, which he ignored.

  “A man might be forgiven for leaping to conclusions, or having a libidinous thought or two, or reacting with visions of the sensual delights awaiting him in the mar- ital bed in such circumstances,” he concluded.

  “I didn’t come here to join you in bed.”

  Stiff with her own indignation, she couldn’t help but note that his fury didn’t interfere in the least with the reaction of a certain body part belonging to him. Even as he expounded on his grievances, his pure masculinity called to her, inviting her to join him in those sensual delights he’d mentioned.

  For one traitorous second, her memory supplied im- ages and sensory perceptions from their tryst at the mountain cabin—how smooth and strong he’d felt to her, how gentle his every touch had been, how she’d loved the contact of flesh touching flesh and the hot sliding friction of his body against hers. She’d loved his every caress….

  “This is ridiculous,” she finally managed to sputter. “I can’t stand here all night arguing with you.” She tried to ease out of his grasp.

  He grinned wolfishly. She thought inanely of Little Red Riding Hood. What big teeth you have, Grandma. His hands didn’t tighten their hold, but neither did he let her go.

  “Oh, no, sweet wife, not yet.”

  Before she could figure out what to do, he gripped one arm and herded her outside. He reached into the equipment room and hit the button for the pool. The cover slid out of sight.

  When Isa tried to hold back, he simply pulled her forward with his greater strength.

  “I don’t want a swim,” she whispered furiously. She glanced toward her dark bedroom windows and the safety she’d left when she ventured out on her self- righteous errand. She’d been insane to confront him at this late hour.

  “It’ll be good for you.” His smile was ruthless while he waited for her acquiesence.

  She set her jaw stubbornly. Whatever game he was playing, she wasn’t going to join in. She was the injured party here, and he was going to listen to what she had to say. The next instant, she was swept up against his chest.

  A mixture of panic and intense excitement bubbled in her, a cauldron of emotions that were beyond her control. She trembled from head to foot when he stopped by the pool.

  “With or without your clothes?” he asked with fake courtesy.

  Time stilled. She could hear crickets chirruping, her heart beating, the deep slow breath he took.

  “I’ll scream.”

  “And wake your brother?”

  She bit her lip, uncertain of her husband’s intent. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, his expression resolute.

  They had reached a turning point. Each knew it. She should protest, but she couldn’t utter one word. She couldn’t think—

  He set her on her feet, then reached for the ties to her robe. She stayed still as he removed the garment. His touch was light, but she felt it throughout her body as if boulders were rolling over her, crushing her…her resistance…her good sense.

  His hands went to her hips. His fingers gathered the material of her nightgown. He paused when the gown’s hem was clasped in his hands, her legs bare to the night chill.

  “Are you going to fight me?” he asked.

  He didn’t sound angry anymore. He was no longer taunting or cynical or amused. She heard the husky ca- dence of desire, felt it in the tension of his hands against her flesh, sensed it in the heat his body radiated.

  When she didn’t answer, he slowly moved his hands upward, taking the gown with them as he did. She let him. The material slipped over her head. He dropped it on top of the robe.

  Panic rose. Before she could flee, he lifted her up and took two running steps, then plunged into the water. She kicked away from him. His skin grazed hers as they surfaced halfway across the moonstruck water.

  He tagged her on the shoulder and swam toward the deep end. His laughter drifted over his shoulder, mock- ing, challenging.

  The panic turned to fury. So he wanted to play games with her. Turning, she thrashed after him, determined to catch him. All thoughts of protest and common sense flew out of her head.

  They played in the heated water for ages, leaping and diving and tagging each other, sometimes touching, a glide of flesh on flesh as they passed. They raced from end to end of the pool.

  Finally, they sat in the shallow end, breathing fast and deep. He took her hand and coaxed her into the shadows cast by the roof overhang of his bedroom. He kissed and caressed her for a long time. Then, as if in a dream, he positioned himself between her thighs and entered her.

  He cushioned her head by placing his arm under it on the step. She rubbed her hands over his back and hips.

  “This isn’t real,” she said, reaching for a defense to shield her trembling heart.

  “I know.” He kissed her to silence.

  Chapter Nine

  Harrison lay in bed and contemplated the brightening of the sky as dawn broke over the desert. He felt le- thargic this morning, with the sated morning-after la- ziness that comes from a night of intense sensual grat- ification.

  Stretching, he winced at the stiffness of muscles well- used during the night’s unexpected activities. The mem- ory of those erotic moments swept over him, bringing a wave of heat that pooled in his groin.

  The stir of desire emphasized the emptiness of his bed. His sweet deceiver of a wife had declined to stay with him. Perhaps it was against the rules for black- mailers to spend the whole night with their victims, he mused, mocking the nee
d that taunted him. However, making love before sharing a leisurely breakfast would be a nice way to start the weekend.

  No early-morning romps for this married couple, he concluded stoically, the heat of anger intermingling with the fires of passion. He threw the sheet off and climbed out of bed. After a quick shower, he dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and headed for the kitchen. Isa was there.

  She wore slacks and a white blouse and looked as prim as a schoolmarm. But he knew better.

  He knew how buttery-smooth and hot she became when he touched her, how she writhed beneath him and held him close and gave him kiss for kiss, how she gave little cries of welcome when he entered her. Twice dur- ing the night, he’d turned to her. Twice, she’d accepted him….

  “Good morning,” he said, unable to keep the hus- kiness from his voice. “You working today?”

  She turned to him, her face composed into the pleas- ant mask that revealed nothing. No trace of last night’s passion lingered in her mist-shrouded eyes. The night might never have been.

  Fury mingled with desire. He contemplated sweeping her into his arms and carrying her back to bed like some hero in a melodrama. Except he’d probably get frostbite if he tried anything so foolish.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I need to go over the receipts and work on the financial reports.”

  “So dedicated,” he murmured, fighting the need to challenge her frigid pretense that nothing had changed between them.

  She poured him a cup of coffee. “I found a waffle iron and made waffles this morning. Would you like some?”

  He considered the question. She acted as if she might be trespassing by using the kitchen utensils.

  “Yes.” He watched, his mood darkening, while she moved about the kitchen with the fluid grace of a dan- cer.

  As usual, she avoided looking directly at him after that first quick meeting of the eyes.

  “Thanks,” he said when she put the plate in front of him and moved a pitcher of warm syrup close. “This is nice,” he added.

  Isa had resumed her seat and was looking at the morning paper, as cool and remote as a moon goddess.

  This isn’t real, she’d said during their wild lovemak- ing.

  No, it wasn’t, but he recognized the possibilities.

  He now understood why some morning meals had been full of jocularity and teasing between his own par- ents during his youth. He now knew why the subtle touches and meetings of their eyes had made him feel funny inside—happy and secure, yet with an overlay of excitement that he’d been too young to comprehend at the time. Now he did.

  That’s what marriage should be, what he’d wanted and expected to find, until he’d been trapped by the coolest little conniver this side of the Rockies.

  The anger beat through him. A need to break through her icy facade swept him to the brink of control. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “I hope it wasn’t too much of a strain,” was her quick comeback. She had a sharp mind, he had to give her that.

  “Nah, hardly any at all. I was thinking, with a full year of marriage, that should be plenty of time.”

  She laid the paper aside and picked up her coffee cup. “Time for what?” She took a sip.

  “For a child.” He waited for his words to sink in.

  She blinked at him…once…twice. A rosy shade of hot pink climbed her neck and face. “You don’t have to worry. There won’t be a child. I’ll stick to my end of the bargain. At the end of a year, you’ll be free, with no ties of any kind.”

  He kept his voice soft. “You don’t understand. I want a child, an heir. A man should get something from his marriage.”

  “You…that’s impossible—”

  “Why? We’re husband and wife. I thought that was the usual way to get a family…as opposed to getting one ready-made like buying a suit off the rack.” He waited for her reaction.

  Raw emotions flashed through her eyes too fast for him to define. When she blinked, they were gone, re- placed by the fathomless mist that hid her inner thoughts so effectively. So much for shock tactics. He wasn’t any closer to understanding her than the day she’d pulled her blackmail trick on him.

  “A child wasn’t part of the deal. I already told you I won’t try to trap you that way.”

  “An honorable blackmailer, huh?” He paused, cyn- ically amused by the irony of the situation for a mo- ment.

  She stiffened, but refused to rise to his baiting. “If you wish to put it that way, then yes. I will keep my word.”

  “Good,” he murmured. “Good.” He picked up the paper.

  Isa mulled over the conversation. She couldn’t be- lieve he’d want a child with her. This was a ploy, a psychological probe into her mind to find a weakness. She’d already given him one insight into her. She came apart when they made love.

  She couldn’t help it. During those exquisitely mad moments in his arms, she couldn’t hide behind a false smile. In those moments, she was exposed and vulner- able. It frightened her.

  A woman had to stay in control. She had to be strong to take on a man of Harrison Stone’s caliber and win. She couldn’t afford the luxury of being soft…or in love.

  Seeing him watching her with a speculative gleam in his eyes, she rose from the chair. “You don’t want a child,” she accused. “You want control. You want to see how far you can push. There’s nothing you can do to make me give up. You’ll be free in a year and not before.” She walked out.

  In the garage, she started her car and backed it out. Before hitting the remote control to close the garage door, she stared at the red sports car. It, too, was part of some game he was playing with her, a temptation dangled before her, like last night when he’d taken her into the pool.

  And she’d gone with him without a murmur of pro- test.

  A woman couldn’t be weak like that, melting in his arms, letting moonlight brew impossible dreams. It was beyond foolishness to let herself believe in fairy tales. She sighed dispiritedly.

  One year. Surely she could make it.

  Isa paced to the office window and back. No sign of Rick. This was the third time he’d been late that week. When she’d questioned his tardiness, he’d mumbled that he’d been hanging out with some guys. She hadn’t met his new friends.

  During the month he’d lived in Reno, he hadn’t brought anyone to the house. It had been the same when they lived in Oregon. He’d kept his life and friends separate from hers.

  His birthday was coming up. Maybe they could have a party with some of his classmates in attendance.

  At six, she heard the outside door open. Rick saun- tered into the office a minute later.

  “Oh, good, you’re here. I was getting worried.” She gave him a sharp glance, but he said nothing. “I have a meeting with the center’s board of directors tonight. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. I’ll give you money to take a cab home. Maggie is off today. Can you manage dinner on your own?”

  “Sure.” He pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes.

  She resisted the urge to tell him to get a haircut. There were so many directives she wanted to spout. Straighten up. Look at me when I talk to you. Stop mum- bling.

  Once he’d been the dearest little boy, climbing into her lap with a favorite book he wanted her to read, nestling his head of fine, dark curls against her while he waited for the story to begin, so trusting it had made her heart ache.

  Their mother had been weak after his birth, and Isa had taken care of the new baby from the start. One of the last times he’d allowed her to hold him had been when she’d explained their mother’s death while their father was out drowning his sorrow at a local tavern. He’d been five years old.

  She swallowed the pain of those memories. The past Was done. “Your birthday is coming up. I thought we might do something special. How about a pool party with a cookout?”

  “That’s for kids.”

  “I know adults who like them, too,” she responded mildly. She removed some money from her purse. “Y
ou could invite your new friends and some classmates you’d like to get to know better. Surely there’s some sweet young thing you find interesting—”

  “No party.” He took the bills and stuffed them into his pocket, then edged toward the door, ready to be off.

  She understood his eagerness to be gone. She hadn’t liked hanging around her father and his cronies. When she’d been fourteen, adults had been the enemy. “I’ll see you when the meeting is over,” she said to his back as he left the office.

  Slumping into the rickety desk chair, she worried that she was handling Rick wrong. She’d read psychology books and talked to his school counselors. She’d tried to be understanding of his needs, his doubts, his hor- monal upheavals.

  Sometimes she wanted to slap him upside the head and have done with it. But she could never bring herself to be brutal with him. She still remembered the scared child who’d looked at her with tears in his eyes and begged, “You’ll stay, won’t you? You won’t go away to heaven like Momma did, will you?”

  “Of course not. I’ll never leave you,” she’d prom- ised. She could remember the feel of his arms and legs wrapping around her, clinging with all his might.

  Her vision blurred.

  Forcing back emotion, she picked up the folder with the financial records and looked over the dismal budget for the center. It was time for a meeting.

  The five directors straggled in within the next fifteen minutes. After greeting each one and serving coffee, she handed out copies of the report she’d compiled during the past month. They perused them in silence.

  “Unless we can come up with more money, this will be our last year,” she said when they’d finished reading.

  “Why haven’t you raised the money? That was what we hired you for—”

  “No,” Isa corrected with a weary smile. “I was hired to manage the center.”

  “And you’ve done a good job,” one of the other directors asserted. He turned to the sour-faced woman who’d spoken first. “Ms. Chavez raised enough to pay off our most pressing debts. That calling campaign worked, but we can’t do it every month.”