Dream 3 - Finding the Dream

by Nora Roberts

  "Since you ask so nice." He shoved roots back into soil and heard her let out a long, keening moan.

  "Not like that. For Lord's sake, you're not planting redwoods. Have a little delicacy."

  "Sorry. It's my first day on the job." He shook his head as she shifted and knelt in the dirt in a way that was sure to send her trim pastel slacks into the rag heap. And all, he thought, to save the sensibilities of an ancient gardener.

  "You run scared of the rest of your staff, too?"

  "Damn right. Most of them have been here longer than I have. This could work." Her hands, coated now with black soil, smoothed and patted. "You'll hardly be able to tell when I'm done here. But who am I fooling? He can tell if you pluck a spray of crabgrass, which is fine, as long as you've asked first."

  "It's looking fine to me."

  "Like you'd know a pansy from a geranium," she muttered.

  "Now you're getting nasty. You've got something…" Casually, he swiped his hand over her cheek, adding a fresh layer of dirt. "There. And here, you need a little to even out the look."

  "I suppose you think that's funny." Struggling for dignity, she brushed at her face and only succeeded in making it worse.

  "No." He picked up a handful of damp pine mulch and dropped it onto her hair. "That's funny."

  "A pity I don't have your raucous sense of humor. But let me try." She rubbed both of her filthy hands over his shirt. "There. I'm dying from laughter now."

  He glanced down at his shirt. He'd just washed the damn thing. "Now you've done it," he said quietly.

  The tone warned her not to inch back, not to bother with reason and excuses. But to run. She sprang to her feet, sending the dog into frantically joyful barks. She managed two sprinting yards before he snagged her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.

  "You started it," she managed between choked laughs.

  "Uh-huh. So I'm obliged to finish it."

  "I'll have your shirt cleaned. Whoops." She watched the world revolve as he flipped her over into his arms. "Why, Mr. Fury, you're so… masterful, so strong, so—what are you doing?" Amusement turned to panic as she caught a glimpse of his direction and realized his intention. "Michael, this isn't funny now."

  "Just my raucous sense of humor again," he told her as he strode toward the edge of the pool.

  "Don't. Now I mean it, Michael." In self-defense, she locked her arms around his neck. "I'm covered with dirt, and it's chilly, and I've just cleaned the pool."

  "Just look at the way it sparkles, too." Controlling her frantic wiggling, he toed off his shoes. "Looks so pretty in the twilight, doesn't it?"

  "I will make you pay," she vowed. "I swear I will make you pay if you dare—"

  "Hold your breath," he suggested and jumped in.

  But she was shrieking when she hit the water, swallowed it, came up choking. "You fool. You idiot. You—" She swallowed more when he pushed her head under.

  What he hadn't counted on was that Laura Templeton had been captain of her swim team, had won a drawer full of medals, and had more than once successfully defended herself against a big brother's bullying.

  While he treaded water and roared with laughter, she nipped fluidly between his legs, grabbed hold where a man was most vulnerable, and squeezed. She could hear the muffled echo of his yelp, smiled grimly, and yanked downward.

  Streaking away, she broke the surface and waited smugly for him to wheeze out breaths and flail toward the side.

  "Now that," she said, slicking back her dripping hair, "was funny."

  He had his breath back, mostly, and eyed her narrowly. "Want to fight dirty, sugar?"

  "This is my element, Michael. You're in over your head."

  "Think so?" He'd done more than a few water stunts in his day. He pushed off the side and pursued.

  She was faster than he'd given her credit for, and slicker. He knew when he was being taunted—the way she nipped just out of reach in a dive for the bottom. The fluidity with which she changed direction and dodged.

  They surfaced again, watching each other over the lapping water. "Wet jeans are constricting."

  She cocked her head. "If you need an excuse." She snagged one of her shoes as it floated by, sighed. "Four pair in one day. Has to be a record." Philosophically, she planted her feet and stood.

  The water streamed off her, glued the thin material of her blouse to the high, full curve of breast, to the narrow torso and subtle flare of hip. In the shadowed light her dripping hair curled wildly and glowed like wet gold.

  "Now you are playing dirty," he murmured.

  Pouring the water out of her shoe, she looked over at him. Her hand remained aloft, her eyes on his as he slowly skimmed through the water toward her. As he stood, he slid his hands over her thighs, hips, sides, and left them molded to her breasts.

  "Michael." The shoe dropped out of her hand and plopped into the water. "We can't."

  "I'm just going to kiss you." His hands slipped wetly to her back, down to cup her bottom as he eased back until they were floating again. "And touch you. And drive us both a little crazy."

  "Oh." Her head was already spinning as his teeth caught her lip, tugged. "Well, if that's all."

  She wrapped herself around him, let him take her through the cool water. It was her mouth that grew hungrier, more avid, seeking his over and over again, going deeper with tongues tangling, breath clashing.

  Need pounded through him with anvil shocks. She was destroying him, her legs gripped hard so that her tight little body molded to his, her hips moving seductively so that sex rubbed sex.

  "Laura—"

  But she answered with an impatient moan, tunneling her hands through his hair, savaging his throat. His loins began to throb like a wound.

  "Hold on a minute."

  "I want you." Her voice was thick, the words hot against his skin. "I want you. I want you."

  "We can't do this here." Could they? His mind went blank when her mouth fit to his again. He sank with her so that the water surrounded them. Her hair floated out, like the mermaid who watched them from the bottom.

  He wanted to keep sinking, sinking, just like this with his mouth hard on hers. Sink into a world where air didn't matter, light didn't matter. Where there was nothing but her and this churning, sweet ache of need.

  When they surfaced again, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Then kicked once to keep them afloat. "No." It wasn't a word he'd expected to say to a woman under the circumstances. And it came out weak as he pressed her head onto his shoulder. "You'd better give me a minute."

  She floated with him, dizzy with desire, dazed with triumph. "I seduced you."

  "Sugar, you damn near killed me."

  She threw her head back and laughed. "I seduced you," she repeated, her face glowing. "I didn't know I could. It's… liberating."

  "You come on over to my place tonight and you can be as liberated as you want. Right now, keep your hands off me."

  She linked her hands behind his neck, easing back so that she could see his face in the falling light. "You wanted to tear my clothes off again."

  "I'm still thinking about it, so behave yourself."

  "I wanted to tear yours off, too. I wonder what that would feel like, to just rip away at your clothes, and… bite you. Sometimes I just want to sink my teeth into your—"

  "Shut up." In defense, he cupped her head and pulled it to his shoulder again. "I think I've created a monster."

  "I don't know about that, but you sure hit the switch. I like it." She laughed again and arched back so that she was floating from the waist up. "Let's come back here tonight when everyone's asleep and go skinny-dipping and make love in the water. Then we'll go for a walk on the cliffs and make love there, just like Seraphina and Felipe."

  She rose up again, water streaming from her. "Let's do something crazy."

  He was about to do something crazy just then, when he caught the sound of footsteps on the path, and movement. Subtly, he hoped, he changed his grip, h
oping he wasn't holding any inappropriate part of the daughter of the house.

  "Laura?" Susan Templeton's brows shot up into her spiky bangs. She didn't consider herself to be a woman who was easily surprised, but it certainly rocked her to see her daughter clinging to a man in the pool with the look of a woman who had recently been thoroughly aroused still on her face.

  "Mom?'' Shock came first, then the heat in her cheeks from embarrassment. She wiggled, but Michael held firm. Neither of them knew if it was out of stubbornness or habit. "You're here."

  "Yes. I am."

  "But you were supposed to be here tomorrow."

  "We finished up our business a little early." She spoke smoothly. But then, she was a smooth woman. Small and delicately built like her daughter, she looked young and chic in her Valentino traveling suit, her dark blond hair capped gamine style around a sharp, interested face.

  "We thought," she said with a faint edge of amusement, "that we'd surprise you. I think we succeeded."

  "Yes. I was just—we were… How was the trip?" Laura ended lamely.

  "Fine." Manners polished to a high sheen, Susan stepped forward, smiled. "It's Michael, isn't it? Michael Fury?"

  "Yeah." With a jerk of his head he tossed his wet hair back. "Nice to see you again, Mrs. Templeton."

  Chapter Fifteen

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  "If I'd known you were coming in this evening, I'd have held dinner, called the rest of the family." Composed now, and dry, Laura sat beside her father in the parlor.

  "We ate on the plane." Thomas patted her hand. He was, thanks to his wife's discretion, blissfully unaware of what his daughter had been doing in the pool an hour earlier. "And we'll see everyone tomorrow. I swear, those girls have grown a foot since Christmas."

  "It seems like." Laura sipped brandy. Her mother was upstairs putting the girls to bed, at her insistence. It postponed the questions, Laura knew. Didn't eliminate them. "They're so excited that you're here. We didn't think you'd be back until summer."

  "Got to see our Katie girl," he told her. Only one of the reasons, he mused. But it would do well enough. "Imagine, our little Kate having a baby."

  "She's glowing. I know it's a cliché, but she really is. She and Byron go around beaming all the time. Oh, and wait until you see J. T. Oh, Dad, he's so perfect. He's sitting up now, and he laughs all the time. Those wonderful belly laughs. I could just eat him up." She curled her legs up, studied him over the rim of her snifter. "And how are you?"

  "Fit and fine."

  It was no less than true. He was a handsome man, one who didn't take his health for granted and disciplined himself with exercise and interests. He wasn't one who took his business or his success for granted; he watched over things with a shrewd and focused eye. Nor did he take his family for granted—he kept them close in heart and mind.

  The result was a firm body, still lanky in his fifties, a face that had lived well and accepted the lines and dents of time with gratitude. His eyes were smoke, like his daughter's, and the silver in his hair glinted richly in the lamplight.

  "You don't look fit and fine," she said and smiled when his brow knit. "You look dashing."

  "And you look happy."

  It relieved him, but he worried at the cause. Was it, as Annie had prophesied darkly, a transitory state attributable to Michael Fury? Or was his little girl finally finding her feet again?

  "You're taking some time for yourself again?"

  "I'm enjoying myself." It wasn't quite the answer, but it was truth. "Ali and I have resolved some things. She's happier, so I'm happier. I love my work. My sisters keep giving me new babies to play with." With a sigh, she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I haven't felt quite so content in a long time."

  "Your mother and I worry about you."

  "I know. And I won't bother to tell you not to, but I will tell you I'm fine. Better than fine."

  "We heard that Peter's to be married again." Her teeth went on edge. "To Candace Litchfield."

  "Word travels," Laura murmured.

  "People are more than pleased to spread that sort of news. Are you all right with it?"

  "I was upset initially," she admitted, remembering that hammer blow to the midsection when they'd made the announcement that night at the club. "A knee-jerk reaction, really. It was mostly the idea of Candy being stepmother to my babies and worry about how the girls would handle it."

  "And?" he said quietly, his hand over hers.

  "And now that it's all settled in, it just doesn't matter." She turned her hand under his, squeezed. "Really doesn't matter at all. The girls have adjusted. They'll go to the wedding in May because it's the right thing for them to do. They don't particularly care for Candy, but they'll be polite. Then they'll come home," she added, "and we'll get on with our lives."

  "They're good girls," Thomas agreed. "Good, sharp girls. I know it's not easy for them, but they have you. So it's you I'm concerned with."

  "There's no need. In fact, I've come to the conclusion that Peter and Candy are perfectly suited. I couldn't be more happy for them."

  He waited a beat, ran his tongue around his teeth. "That's nasty."

  "Yes." She sighed lavishly. "It is. I like it."

  "That's my girl."

  "Now, let's talk about something much more interesting." She sat back again, grinning. "Let me tell you about the impromptu boxing match in the lobby today."

  When Susan came back in, it was to the roar of her husband's laughter and the rich undertone of her daughter's. She stood for a minute, enjoying the scene. She could count every week, every month, that had passed since she had seen her little girl laugh that freely.

  Gnawing her lip, she considered. If Michael Fury had anything to do with it, she owed him. Whatever Annie might think. As a woman, she understood and appreciated the need of another woman to have, at least once, at least briefly, a dangerous man in her life.

  As a mother… well, they would see.

  "Tommy, your granddaughters want a kiss good night."

  He was up like a shot. "I'll have to give them one, then."

  "And no more than one story," Susan murmured to him as he passed. "No matter how much you want to play."

  He pinched her cheek, winked, and walked on.

  "That should keep him busy for an hour." Susan glided over to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a brandy. "And will give you time to tell me about Michael Fury."

  Her mother, Laura thought, rarely circled around a point if she could zero right in. "Josh must have told you about the mud slides, how Michael lost his house."

  "Yes, I know the background, Laura." Her daughter, Susan thought, could evade like a champ. "He's raising horses now and renting the stables for a time."

  "He's got wonderful horses." Laura leapt on the ploy. "You'll have to see for yourself. Several are trained for stunts. It's fascinating. He's teaching the girls to ride, you know. They're crazy about him."

  "And are you? Crazy about him?"

  "It's been good for the girls to be around a man who pays attention to them."

  Patient, Susan reached down to pet Bongo. Only one of the changes, she mused as the dog vibrated with pleasure under her hand. "I was asking about you, Laura. How you feel about him."

  "I'm very fond of him. He's been helpful and kind. Are you sure you don't want me to get you something to eat? Some fruit and cheese?"

  "No, I don't want fruit and cheese." Susan reached over to still her daughter's nervous hand. "Are you in love with him?"

  "I don't know." Laura leveled her breath and met her mother's gaze. "I'm sleeping with him. I'm sorry if you disapprove."

  "It's not for me to disapprove over something that personal at this point in your life." But there was a pang. "You're being careful?"

  "Of course."

  "He's very attractive."

  "Yes, he is."

  "And nothing like Peter."

  "No," Laura agreed. "Nothing at all like Peter."

  "Is that wh
y you're attracted to him? Because he's the antithesis of your ex-husband?"

  "I'm not using Peter as a yardstick." Restless, she rose. "Maybe I was, to some extent. It's difficult not to compare when you've only been with two men. I'm not sleeping with Michael to prove anything to anyone, but because it's—he makes me… I want him. And he wants me."

  "Will that be enough for you, Laura?"

  "I don't know. It's enough for now." She turned away, paced to the fire. It was quiet tonight, just a warm glow and a subtle hiss. "I failed before. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect. Maybe I wanted to be you."

  "Oh, honey."

  "It's not your fault," Laura said quickly when her mother got to her feet. "Please don't think I mean that. It's only that I grew up seeing you, how you were, how you are. So competent and wise and flawless."

  "I'm not flawless, Laura. No one is."

  "You were to me. You are. You never faltered, never stumbled, never let me down."

  "I stumbled." She crossed the room, took her daughter's hands. "Countless times. I had your father to help me get my balance."

  "And he had you to help him. That's what I always wanted, dreamed of. The kind of marriage and life and family you made. And I'm not foolish enough to think it didn't take effort and mistakes and sleepless nights to make it. But you did. I didn't."

  "You make me angry when you blame yourself."

  Laura shook her head. "I don't, completely. But I know I'm not blameless either. I set my sights impossibly high. Every time I had to readjust them, lower them, it was harder. I don't ever want to do that again."

  "If you set your sights too low, you can miss a great deal."

  "Maybe. But I'm not pushing for more here than what I have. Part of me will always want what you and Dad have. Not only for myself but for my children. But if it's not in the cards, I'm through crying over it. I'm going to give them the best life I can, and make the best one for myself too. Right now, Michael's an important part of it."

  "Does he know how important?"

  Laura shrugged her shoulders. "It's often difficult to tell how much Michael knows. But I know this. Peter didn't love me, not ever."