"I accused no one."
"No, you didn't out-and-out accuse one of them specifically, but you might as well have." She marched right up to him and pointed her finger in his face. "Those four people are the dearest friends I have on earth. Lyle and Fletch are like brothers to me. Not a one of them would ever do anything to harm me."
"Are you willing to bet your life on that?"
"What?"
He manacled her wrist. She glared at him. "From this moment on, until you are no longer in any danger, the only person you can trust one hundred percent is me."
"You? You're a stranger to me. A hired bodyguard. Why should I trust you more than four people I've known and trusted for years?"
With one quick jerk, he hauled her up against him and lowered his head enough so that their breaths mingled. "I think you already know the answer to that question."
Chapter 10
Thanks for the ride home." Holding the passenger side door open on the rninivan, Roz peered inside at Lyle. "You wouldn't want to come inside for a cup of coffee, would you?"
Lyle didn't respond immediately so she figured he was trying to find a tactful way to decline her offer. It had been stupid of her to suggest that he come into her house, even for something as innocent as coffee. Wasn't he the man who had told her that he was afraid she'd contaminate him, that her wickedness would rub off on him?
"Sure. I'd love a cup of coffee. Have you got decaf?" He opened the driver's side door and hopped out.
Too stunned to speak, Roz stood there for a couple of seconds, her mouth hanging open and her eyes slightly glazed from shock. "Oh. . .yeah. . .I've got decaf. Got it in three flavors." She slammed the rninivan door. "Hazelnut. Macadamia chocolate and French vanilla"
Lyle rounded the van, then stopped hesitantly. "French vanilla sounds nice."
Reverend Lyle Jennings was actually going to come inside her house, at night—heck, at past midnight—for a cup of coffee. Was she dreaming or had some alien being possessed the rev's body?
Oh, God, her house was a mess. She couldn't remember the last time she'd dusted. There were dirty dishes in the sink. Unfolded clothes in the laundry basket on the kitchen table. And her bed was unmade. Forget about unmade beds, Roz, she told herself. Lyle certainly isn't going to be in your bedroom tonight.
As they walked toward the front door, side by side but not touching, Roz began feeling uncertain about having issued the invitation. "Look, I'm not much of a housekeeper. The place is untidy. Actually, it's an unholy mess. Oh, bad choice of words. Sorry."
"Roz?" Lyle halted at the door.
She turned to face him. "Huh?" she replied nervously. She loved that adorable freckled face of his, those sleepy hazel eyes and that shock of wavy red hair. Put him in a cowboy outfit and he'd look like Howdy Doody all grown up. Yet she could picture a couple of adorable kids who looked just like him. One of these days some really lucky woman would give him those kids. Why the heck did she have to wish she could be the mother of Lyle's babies, the woman he loved and wanted to spend the rest of his life with? Of all the women on earth, she'd be his last choice.
"My place isn't very neat, either," he admitted. "When some of the ladies at the church dropped by, they suggested that I needed a wife. I suspect they took one look at my lack of housekeeping skills and figured—"
"I'll bet they've been bombarding you with likely candidates, haven't they?" Roz could just picture the uptight plain Janes the church ladies had paraded before him. Prim. Proper. Pious. Boring. And completely suited to life as a minister's wife.
As Roz unlocked the door, Lyle sighed. "I've tried every courteous way I know how to tell the ladies that I'm perfectly capable of finding a wife without any assistance. But they do seem determined for me to choose one of the young women they deem suitable."
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was blushing. "Come on in." After turning on the light in the living room, she spread out her arm in a gesture of welcome. "Be it ever so humble." Immediately she flitted about, picking up magazines strewn on the floor, stuffing scattered clothing beneath sofa and chair cushions and jerking up a couple of beer bottles from an end table. Holding the bottles behind her hips, she backed toward the door to the kitchen. "Make yourself at home. I'll put on that coffee—French vanilla— and be right back."
"Thanks." Lyle chose the sofa, sat and glanced around the room.
She plastered a fake smile on her face and shoved the door open with her butt, then escaped into the small, cluttered kitchen. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, she tried to remember where she'd stored that unopened bag of French vanilla decaf coffee Caroline had given her, along with the other flavors, in a Valentine's Day gift basket. It's got to be here somewhere, she thought. Ah-ha! In the freezer! Caroline had told her to store the small bags of gourmet coffee in the freezer so they'd stay fresh.
Hurrying, she retrieved the coffee, opened the sack and prepared her four-cup coffeemaker. With that done, she rummaged around in the refrigerator and in the cabinets for something to serve with the coffee. Cake? Pie? Danish? She didn't have any of that stuff. Cookies. She had cookies. Oversize peanut butter cookies she'd picked up at the bakery a few days ago. While the coffee brewed, she cracked open the door and called out to Lyle, "Cream and sugar or just black?"
"Sugar, please. One teaspoon."
"Coming right up."
Damn, she didn't have a silver coffeepot or any good china. She didn't even own a set of matching thrift-store dishes. The best she could offer Lyle was a pink Bitch's Brew mug. When she had seen the mugs in a specialty shop several years ago, she'd thought they were cute, so she'd bought half a dozen. Most of the guys she dated either didn't even notice the feminist logo or got a good laugh when they read it. Lyle was likely to take offense. What the hell! She couldn't serve hot coffee in her Wal-Mart Looney Tunes glasses, could she? Another purchase that she had, at the time, thought was cute.
Five minutes later, she shoved open the door with her hip and emerged from the kitchen carrying a floral metal tray. The moment she entered the room, Lyle stood. What a gentleman, she thought. She wasn't used to guys with good manners. Lyle's Southern charm had a way of disarming her and making her feel inferior. She knew he didn't come from money or anything like that, but he'd had a mama who was a real lady. Caroline's aunt Dixie had instilled old-fashioned rules of decorum in her son and niece.
Roz placed the cheap metal tray on the cocktail table, wishing with all her heart that it was the finest silver. She sat on the sofa, then Lyle joined her, sitting on the opposite end.
"I thought you might like some cookies." She indicated the plate of cookies by pointing at them, then remembered that pointing wasn't polite. "Peanut butter. I hope you like them."
"Did you bake them?" he asked as he lifted the bright pink coffee mug and reached for a cookie.
Roz chuckled. "Me?" She shook her head. "Honey, I've never baked anything in my life." She gasped. "Sorry, Rev, I didn't mean to call you honey. Just a slip of the tongue."
Lyle blushed again, then picked up a cookie and took a bite. After chewing, sipping the coffee and swallowing, he smiled. "The cookie's quite tasty and the coffee's really good. Thank you."
Roz tried to think of something to do or say to make this less awkward for him. She tried to think of a subject to discuss. Surely they had at least one thing in common. "What do you think of Mr. Wolfe?'' she finally asked, then picked up her coffee mug.
Lyle stared at the mug she held, seemingly mesmerized by it. Suddenly Roz realized he hadn't paid any attention to his own matching mug and was reading the logo on hers. His mouth curved into a smile. She giggled.
"Sorry. They're all I've got. I bought them a few years back because I simply couldn't resist them."
"Stop apologizing to me for every little thing." Lyle scooted a little closer to her, his gaze never leaving her face. "I may be a minister, but I'm not a saint, not some perfect human being whose job it is to judge you. I t
hink the mugs are cute. They're—" he paused, as if trying to come up with the right thing to say "—they're so you, Roz."
"Oh?" Was that an insult? A compliment? Neither? "Is that good or bad?"
"Definitely good," he said.
"You mean there's something about me that you think is good?"
His smile widened into a sheepish grin. "I suppose I deserve that." He shook his head and laughed. "There's a lot about you that's good. Buying these mugs is an example of your great sense of humor, and a sense of humor is a good thing."
"Does that mean you don't think the mugs' logo suits my personality? Do you think I'm a bitch, Lyle?" Oh, that's it, Roz, ask a leading question. Brace yourself for the answer, she cautioned herself. The rev doesn't he, you know.
"No more or no less than any other female of my acquaintance," he replied—and with a straight face.
She stared at him for a moment, then realized he was joking. She punched his arm playfully, laughing as she leaned toward him. Their gazes connected. Warmth suffused her body. Sexual heat. Don't go there, Roz, an inner voice warned. Just because he's being nice to you for a change doesn't mean he's interested in you in that way.
"I. . .er. . .I think Mr. Wolfe takes his job very seriously." Lyle cleared his throat. "And that's good for Caroline. I believe Fletch was wrong to take offense at the things Mr. Wolfe said."
"I agree. I think Wolfe would die to protect Caroline."
"That's his job, isn't it? To be prepared to kill or to die to protect her." Lyle finished off the cookie and washed it down with his coffee.
"Yeah, I suppose it is, but I think there's more to it. Didn't you pick up any vibes between them? If I didn't know better, I'd swear he and Caroline have something going on."
"Caroline just met the man," Lyle said. "She is not the type of woman who would—"
"Honey, any woman is the type who would with—"
"With a man like Mr. Wolfe, you mean."
Roz shook her head. "No, I wasn't going to say with a man like Mr. Wolfe. I was going to say, with the right man. A woman would do just about anything for a guy who is her soul mate."
"I hardly think Caroline and Mr. Wolfe are soul mates. They have nothing in common."
Roz gazed into Lyle's eyes. "You might be surprised. Besides, I don't think you have to come from similar backgrounds or be just alike to be soul mates. Do you?"
"I don't know," Lyle admitted. "I've never given the subject much thought." He added in a whisper, "Until recently."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. The idea of having a soul mate is sort of sappy and sentimental, isn't it?"
"And romantic," Lyle said. "Yeah. Very romantic."
Moment by moment, inch by inch, Lyle and Roz drew closer and closer until they were sitting right beside each other on the sofa. Their arms and legs touching, their gazes locked, their breathing labored.
"You're very pretty," Lyle said.
"Thank you. You're pretty cute yourself."
Lyle blushed, yet again. "I've never thought of myself as cute."
"You are." She reached out and ruffled his thick red hair. "You're awfully cute. And as you know, I just love cute things."
They came together, their Lips almost touching. Roz's stomach fluttered. Was he really going to kiss her? Please, let it happen, she prayed. I promise I'll be good for him. So good. Just let him want me the way I want him.
The telephone rang. Lyle jumped away from Roz as if an invisible hand had shoved him. Roz groaned. Who the hell would be calling at this time of night? She grumbled to herself, cursing the Fates for interrupting at such an auspicious moment. Another ten seconds and all her dreams might have come true. She stomped across the room, lifted the receiver and growled.
"Whoever this is, it had better be a damn emergency!"
"Roz, sweet thing, did I wake you?"
"Gavin?"
She sensed Lyle's movement and when she glanced his way, she almost cried. The look on his face said it all. Disappointment. Anger. Hurt. He rose to his feet quickly and accidentally hit his knee on the edge of the coffee table. Grimacing, he groaned and rubbed his knee. She looked at him pleadingly. Don't go! I'll get rid of Gavin. The man means absolutely nothing to me. You're the man I want. . .the man I love.
"Gavin, this isn't a good time for me," she said.
"Should I be jealous? Are you in the sack with another guy?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Lyle was heading for the front door. Damn! "Call me back when it's daylight outside, okay?" Lyle opened the front door.
"Better yet, Gavin, don't bother calling me again. Ever!" Roz slammed down the telephone and ran toward the door, catching up with Lyle just as he stepped over the threshold. "Wait!"
Lyle turned and glared at her, his face flushed with anger. "You shouldn't have been rude to your boyfriend on my account. Heck, Roz, it's not as if you and I are friends. We don't even like each other, do we? The only reason we're ever civil to each other is for Caroline's sake."
She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from bursting into tears, then bobbed her head up and down to agree with him. "Drive carefully. Okay?"
He nodded. "Good night, Roz. Thanks for the coffee and the cookies."
"Sure. Anytime."
He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but instead he turned and walked away. Roz stood in the doorway for several minutes after the red taillights on Lyle's rninivan disappeared down the road. Then she slammed the door, leaned against it and sank to the floor. She keened softly as tears trickled down her cheeks, over her nose and across her lips.
Caroline had all but run from Wolfe, and he had allowed her to escape—from him and his brutally honest statement. Of course she knew why she should trust him and him alone. But she couldn't admit that to him. She barely had the courage to admit the reason to herself. She had locked herself in the bathroom, turned on the shower and stripped naked. While standing under the warm, pelting water, she relived every moment of her life since Wolfe had showed up at her front door. She had wondered how it was possible that on such short acquaintance a perfect stranger had come to mean so much to her.
Now, sitting at her dressing table, combing the tangles from her damp hair, she confronted herself about her true feelings for Wolfe. If she trusted him with her life, as she trusted no one else, wasn't it time to be totally honest with herself? A powerful sexual attraction existed between them. She felt it and so did he. It was unlike anything she'd ever known. But that wasn't the reason why she trusted him. There was more to her feelings than sexual attraction. From the first moment she saw him, she sensed a bond, as if she already knew him. Was reincarnation possible? she speculated. Lyle would say it wasn't. Roz would say it definitely was. Brooke and Fletch would say whatever was currently in vogue with their set of society friends.
No matter what she believed or didn't believe, one fact was clear. Wolfe was a man capable of protecting her, a man who had proved that he was dedicated to keeping her safe. In some odd sort of way, his interest in her seemed personal. Was it the sexual thing? she asked herself. Did he, like some primitive male, think of her as his possession, his woman? As a modem-thinking female, with politically correct views on many subjects, she supposed she should resent that type of macho thinking. After all, maybe Wolfe was the kind of man who thought it was his right to sleep with his female clients. Was his desire to have sex with her at the root of his willingness to go to any lengths to protect her?
Caroline laid the silver comb on the dressing table, eased back the satin-covered bench on which she sat and rose to her feet. It was time for her to have a talk with her bodyguard. She had to find out if she was simply one more woman in a long line of conquests.
What if you are? What will you do then?
She donned the matching satin robe that covered her bare arms and swept to the floor. The lace hem glided along behind her as she marched out of her bedroom. Naturally he had left his door wide open. She paused momentarily outside his
bedroom, took a deep, fortifying breath and knocked softly on the door frame. She glanced into the room but didn't see him anywhere.
"Wolfe, I'd like to speak to you, please."
His bathroom door opened. She gasped. He emerged with a large towel draped around his hips, the rest of him completely nude. Taken aback by his lack of clothing, she froze to the spot and swallowed hard.
"I'll come back after you've put on something."
She turned and headed toward her room, but he caught up with her before she'd taken more than a few steps. His big hand clutched her upper arm. She whirled around to face him, her breathing harsh, her cheeks flushed with emotion.
"What are you so afraid of, Caroline?" he asked, his cold, jade-green eyes focused on her face. "You must know. . .you must feel it here—" he laid his open palm over her heart "—that I would never hurt you, that I will protect you, with my life if necessary."
"Because it's your job?" She held her breath, waiting for his reply. His big hand on her chest felt hot and heavy.
"Yes, partly because it's my job." His palm glided upward, over her collarbone, until he spread apart his fingers and gripped her throat with the utmost tenderness.
"And. . ." she prompted.
"And because I couldn't bear for anything to happen to you."
He lifted the hand at her throat and circled around to grasp the nape of her neck, while he released his hold on her arm to cup her hip. She gazed into his eyes, hypnotized by the intensity of emotion she saw revealed in their depths. He was going to kiss her, with or without her permission. Had he guessed that this was what she wanted? He covered her lips with his, a gentle possession but forceful enough to brook no denial on her part. When she succumbed to the kiss, he pulled her closer and deepened the contact.
This was unlike any kiss she'd ever known. Powerful enough to propel her from pleasurable experience to raging sexual hunger in one minute flat. Every fiber of her being acknowledged this man as her mate. Primeval forces surged through her body, demanding satisfaction of the most primitive nature. Caroline pressed herself intimately against his erection and a sense of feminine power overwhelmed her. She lifted her arms to drape his shoulders and became an equal participant in the carnality of their kiss.
Sweet Caroline's Keeper Page 13
