When the kiss finally ended, he was trembling with a bittersweet combination of pleasure and raw hunger.
“Do you want me?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Tell me you want me just a little bit. Tell me I’m not the only one who is aching.”
She made a sound deep in her throat and flowed against him, wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her mouth beneath his, denying him nothing of her response.
He took what she offered with a hunger that was just short of uncontrolled. His mouth bit into hers as though he were starved for the taste of her, the feel of her, the heat of her tongue sliding over his.
And he was.
She returned the bruising kiss with every bit of her strength, her nails clinging to his shoulders, her body straining against his, her teeth nipping him. The violence of her hunger should have shocked her, but all she could feel was the burning of his flesh against hers.
Even so, the instant his hand moved toward her breast she stiffened in automatic withdrawal. But when he tore his mouth away from hers, she whimpered in protest.
“I didn’t mean it,” she said.
The sound went through him like a knife, tightening every muscle in his body. He didn’t want to let go of her, but he knew he must. if he didn’t, he would forget about Billy, forget about her harsh experiences with her ex-husband, forget about everything but the raw need clawing at his body.
He didn’t want to take Shelley that way. He didn’t want to be as selfish as the man who had humiliated her years ago, making her bury her sensuality beneath layers of fear.
Tenderly Cain brushed his lips over her flushed face, murmuring reassurances. As he felt the tension begin to leave her, he hugged her gently.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said raggedly. “I don’t know what got into me.”
His eyes widened as he realized that she was telling the exact truth. She didn’t know what it was like to be aroused, hungry, demanding of her lover.
“I’m not a damned bit sorry,” he said.
Still embarrassed, she refused to meet his eyes.
“Look at me, mink.”
Slowly she raised her head. Her eyes were still darkened by the storm of passion that had shaken her.
“That’s the way a woman is supposed to be in the arms of a man she wants,” he said. “Soft and wild.”
“But I—I attacked you.”
“I enjoyed it. Every bit. Teeth and nails and all.”
She looked startled, then disbelieving.
His head bent. His teeth closed on the skin where her neck curved into her shoulder. Gently, firmly, he caressed her smooth flesh with his teeth.
He heard her breath catch with surprise. And then he felt the shudder of her response. Her nails dug into his shoulders again, asking for more.
Demanding it.
With a soft laugh he kissed away the small marks his teeth had left on her skin.
“Now do you believe me?” he asked. “You can touch me any way you want to, any time you feel like it. I’m as hungry for it as you are.”
The outside screen door banged, announcing Billy’s return.
Cain looked at Shelley’s mouth and saw the passion that trembled visibly in her.
“We’ll be alone soon,” he said. “I promise you.”
With that he dropped beneath the surface of the water and pushed off from the side. He shot out from behind the waterfall with a speed and power that reminded her of how much strength he had held in check despite his own raw hunger and her heedless, passionate demands.
Billy headed for the pool, carefully balancing a tray. Plastic glasses full of lemonade slopped a bit with each step he took.
“Did you catch her?” he asked Cain.
“Yeah, but I cheated.”
“You peeked?”
“Nope.” Cain smiled wickedly. “I used my teeth.”
The boy looked startled, then he laughed. “Everybody out. It’s lemonade time.”
“I’ll drink mine in the pool,” Cain said.
He hooked one elbow over the sun-warmed flag-stones and reached for a glass of lemonade.
Shelley knew why he was staying in the pool. But she didn’t have to. Her arousal showed only in a flush that could have come from the sun. She was free to get out of the concealing water and enjoy her lemonade while sitting in a chair.
Sometimes, she decided with silent amusement, the female of the species definitely has an advantage over the male.
Billy drained his glass in a few gigantic swallows and looked over at Shelley.
“It sure smelled good in the kitchen,” he said.
“Did you notice what time it was?” she asked.
“Five-thirty. There was a timer buzzing on the stove.”
“The potatoes!”
She leaped to her feet and ran toward the house.
Cain laughed aloud, but his laughter died as he watched Shelley’s graceful, long-legged flight. The garnet two-piece suit she wore fit her like wet satin spray paint, showing every curve, every swell, the taut rise of nipples hardened by evaporating water and a desire that was far from evaporating.
It was a few minutes before he felt cool enough to get out of the pool. He wrapped a towel around his hips, scooped up all the empty glasses, and began leaving wet tracks on the rock stairs that skirted the waterfall on the way to the second-level kitchen entrance.
“Pick up the green beans,” he called over his shoulder to Billy. “And then it’s time you learned how to set a table. You won’t always have a maid to do your work.”
“Aw, Uncle Cain.”
“Aw, Nephew Billy,” he said, exactly imitating the boy’s plaintive tones.
Glumly Billy squatted down on his heels beside the spilled green beans and began picking them up.
Nudge glided over, intent on more vegetable prey.
Cain saw what was going to happen, started to warn his nephew, then shrugged and decided to let nature take its course.
As he opened the kitchen door, Billy let out a startled yelp.
Shelley looked up from the potatoes she had just rescued. “What was that?”
“Nudge nudging.”
“Sure it wasn’t Squeeze squeezing?”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her against his body with a gradual force that made muscles stand out along his arms.
“This,” he said, “is a squeeze.”
She didn’t have enough breath left to do more than nod agreement. He kissed her shoulder and then released her with a reluctance that was another kind of caress.
“Anything I can do?” he asked.
She gave him a sidelong glance and a raised eyebrow that made him smile.
“Anything that we won’t mind doing in public,” he amended.
“How are you on squeezing potatoes?”
“Terrible. I mash the poor devils every time.”
She winced. “I should have drowned you when I had the chance.”
“Oh? When did you have the chance?”
He lifted her damp hair and nibbled on her neck. The potato masher slipped out of her fingers and hit the counter with a metallic ring. He caught the tool before it hit the floor.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a distracting man?” she muttered.
“You. Just now. Do I really distract you, mink?”
“Yes!”
“Good. God knows that you play hell with my concentration.”
He lifted her, pivoted, and put her down. With quick, efficient motions, he reduced the steaming potatoes to a thick, smooth mass.
Shelley stood on her tiptoes and peered around his broad back.
“Now I know what women did before electric mixers,” she said.
He gave her a sidelong look.
She poured in hot milk and melted butter. When he flexed his arm to resume mashing, she delicately bit his biceps.
He froze.
“Shelley—” he began, his voice husky, warning.
Billy came u
p to the kitchen door, carrying various bowls of green beans. He levered the screen door open with an elbow.
“Lucky for you,” Cain said under his breath to Shelley.
“Luck? It was superior timing.”
She proved it by stepping just out of his reach.
“What was timing?” Billy asked her as he came into the kitchen.
“Watch the cat,” she said.
He looked down, stuck his foot out, and held the screen door open while Nudge slipped inside. Shelley took the beans from him before they had another fall.
“What’s timing?” the boy asked her again.
“The secret of making good mashed potatoes.”
“Real potatoes?”
There was a touching combination of hope and disbelief in his young voice.
“As real as I can make them,” Cain said.
The rhythmic, heavy thump of the masher against the pot underlined his words.
“Cool!” Billy said. “I was afraid we’d have mashed potatoes out of a box.”
“Ugh,” she said. “Wallpaper paste.”
“What?” Billy asked.
“Library glue,” offered Cain.
She snickered. “Papier-mâché.”
“Concrete.”
Billy looked from side to side like a spectator at a tennis match. Then he grinned as understanding came.
“You don’t like instant mashed potatoes any better than I do,” he said.
“Oh, they’re not bad if you’re hiking in the wilderness,” Cain said.
“And you’ve already walked fifty miles,” she added.
“Without eating.”
“For five days.”
“And there’s no other food around.”
“For a hundred miles.”
“And your leg is broken.”
“And you need to make a cast!” she said triumphantly.
Billy waited, but his uncle was laughing too hard to respond to Shelley’s topper.
Smiling, she went back to sorting out beans.
Nudge landed on the countertop with a muscular, graceful leap. Intently she watched the vegetables.
“She likes beans,” Billy said.
“Really?” Shelley asked dryly. “What was your first clue?”
“Her cold nose in my—”
“Billy,” Cain interrupted warningly.
“Er, rear.”
“Set the table,” Cain told his nephew.
“Yes, sir.”
Cain handed the potatoes over to Shelley. “How long until dinner?”
“As soon as I cook the beans.”
“Is there enough time for me to check my answering machine?”
“Still worried about Lulu?”
“Does whiskey still have alcohol in it?”
“There’s a phone just inside the door in the next room.”
“Thanks.”
While Billy worked on the table, Cain called his apartment. After a minute Shelley heard him curse. He hung up hard, then punched in a long series of numbers. He talked with someone for several minutes, but she could make out only the tone, not the words.
Cain was furious.
Numbly she wondered what else had gone wrong in the Yukon, when he would leave to fix it, and how long he would be gone.
Traveling man, never in one place long enough to have a home.
He likes it that way, remember? she asked herself harshly.
But she hadn’t remembered.
She didn’t want to remember even now. Each time she came up against his rootless ways, she was dismayed. Each time it sliced deeper into her.
There was no longer a question if he would hurt her. The only question was when.
And how badly.
Chapter Eleven
By the time Cain came back into the kitchen, the table was set and dinner was ready to be served.
He didn’t look ready to enjoy it.
Instead of the relaxed, lazy smile she had become used to seeing, he was thin-lipped and frowning. Then he made, a visible effort to throw off whatever he had learned about his project in the Yukon.
She started to ask what had happened up north, then decided against it. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Obviously he didn’t.
She dumped hot beans into a bright yellow bowl.
“Take these in and sit down,” she said. “Billy is just putting on the salt and pepper.”
Cain picked up a steaming green bean and popped it into his mouth. The vegetable made a satisfying crunch between his teeth.
“Cool,” he said, sounding just like his nephew. “Real potatoes and beans that haven’t been cooked to death. I have high hopes for the chicken.”
“Chickens,” she corrected. “The way Billy eats, I cooked two whole fryers, and bought extras of favorite pieces.”
“Breasts?” he asked, deadpan.
“Feet,” she retorted. “Nice and chewy.”
His face relaxed into a smile. “I’m glad I met you, Shelley Wilde. I would have sworn nothing could put me back in a good mood, but you do it with a few words.”
“Chicken feet.”
He was still laughing when he walked into the dining room. She was close behind, carrying a platter heaped high with crispy pieces of fried chicken. He seated her formally, ran the backs of his fingers down her sleek hair, and sat across from her.
As they ate, Cain began to pry information out of his nephew with a quiet persistence that reminded Shelley of Nudge stalking beans.
“How’s it going in math this summer?” Cain asked.
“Okay.”
“Is that A-OK, B-OK—”
“C-minus,” Billy said glumly.
“Fractions?”
“And decimals and algebra. Algebra! I’m only in the seventh grade!”
Cain poured gravy over his second helping of mashed potatoes. “What about English?”
“Don’t ask.” Billy pointed at the drumstick on his plate. “Can I eat with my fingers?”
“I don’t know,” Cain said, looking up with interest. “Can you?”
“Of course I—oh. May I eat with my fingers, Shelley?”
“Miss Wilde,” Cain corrected.
“Shelley,” she said firmly. “And yes, you may. It’s not fried chicken if you have to use a knife and fork.”
Billy picked up the drumstick and dug in eagerly.
“How much homework do you have to do this weekend?” Cain asked after a few moments.
Billy gave his uncle a wary glance. “You’ve been talking to Dad.”
Cain waited for an answer.
The boy sighed and said in a disgusted tone, “Lots.”
“Do you know how to do it?”
“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“Maybe you’d better figure it out tonight. I won’t be here tomorrow.”
Shelley looked up sharply. Cain caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his attention on his nephew.
“I thought you were going to be here until Dad gets back,” Billy said.
“I wanted to. But—” Cain made a cutting gesture with his hand. “I’ve got to go back to the Yukon for a few days. There was an accident.”
“Serious?” Shelley asked, remembering his anger.
“Someone bent a hammer over my site engineer’s thick skull.”
Billy looked startled, then whooped with excitement. “Did he really, Uncle Cain? Did they fight?”
He slanted his nephew a look that made Billy lower his voice very quickly.
“Yeah,” said Cain. “They fought. Like two bloody kids in a school yard sandbox.”
“Schoolchildren don’t use weapons,” she said. “You haven’t been to school lately,” Billy muttered.
“Did they arrest the man?” she asked Cain.
“Why bother? It’s the Yukon. Besides, it was his wife they were arguing over.”
She struggled not to smile, then gave in and laughed.
“Some things are pretty much t
he same no matter where in the world you are,” she said, shaking her head. “My dad used to say he spent more time sorting out people than snakes.”
“Amen. Except that I spend more time sorting out fools than rock strata.” He looked directly at Shelley. “I’m sorry, mink.”
She turned away very quickly, not wanting to show how unhappy she felt about having Cain leave.
“No problem,” she said neutrally. “Traveling men . . . travel.”
His mouth flattened. He turned to his nephew. “When will your mother be back?”
The boy paused, took a mouthful of potatoes, and muttered, “After breakfast.”
Something about his manner made both adults look at him.
“Breakfast tomorrow?” Shelley asked gently. “Or some other breakfast?”
For a moment she thought Billy wasn’t going to answer. Then, with elaborate casualness, he picked up another fat drumstick. Just before his teeth sank into the juicy meat, he shrugged.
“Some of her parties last a week. It’s okay, though. Lupe does the wash and cooks for me, and Mother always gets home before Dad.”
The boy’s face changed as he remembered that his father wasn’t coming home to his mother anymore.
“Anyway,” he said fiercely, tearing into the drumstick, “it all works out.”
Cain said something soft and vicious that only Shelley heard. She put her hand over his forearm as though restraining him. The tension in his muscles told her how angry he was.
“I’m sure it does,” she said evenly to Billy. “This time it will work out a new way. Cain will bring over your clothes and schoolbooks. You’ll stay with me until JoLynn gets back.”
Nephew and uncle started to talk at once.
“No arguments,” she said.
“But—” Cain began.
“Save your breath. I’ve spent hours trying to figure a way to trap Billy into being around when Squeeze gets hungry. This is a definite gotcha.”
Billy looked hopefully at his uncle.
“If you give Shelley one bit of trouble, I’ll peel you like a grape,” Cain said. “Got it?”
“Got it,” Billy said instantly.
“Speaking of Squeeze and hungry,” she said, “I’d better check the aquarium lid.”
Where the Heart Is Page 14
