by Renee Roszel
She lowered her eyes but continued to watch his graceful, broad stride. She had to admit, despite her disappointment in him, that he was a very attractive man. But—she reminded herself sternly as he took her hand—he very well knew it!
“You look lovely, Raine.”
In her mind she scoffed at his compliment. The remark was merely a social requirement, but it had its effect. Working to keep her voice even, she admitted, “The dress is Nordie’s. I didn’t bring anything appropriate for a formal party.”
His lips opened in a surprised, “Oh? Well, for once, my sister came through.” He turned to look at her and smiled. “I’ve never seen this dress, Nordie.”
She hugged Bill’s arm and giggled. “I bought it in a fit of conservatism after the last presidential address. Never could bring myself to wear it, though.”
“I doubt that the president was referring to conservatism in party attire, Nordie, but for you, it would be a start,” Cotter quipped, as he scanned his sister’s day-glo suit and matching pumps. He shook his head.
She laughed again, squeezing Bill’s arm. “I knew you’d be pleased.”
During the exchange, Cotter had continued to hold Raine’s hand, and it had been a strain for her to follow the conversation. When he gently squeezed her fingers, she realized that he was speaking to her, and her eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”
He repeated, “I asked if you’d like a drink before we go.”
She swallowed. “I…no. I’ve kept everybody waiting long enough.”
“All right, then, I’ve sent for Lys to take Carl out the back way, down the ramp, so I believe we’re ready to leave.” He moved a hand to her back, guiding her toward the front door. She could feel his fingers spread as his hand rested there possessively.
On the trip over, Raine was quiet, trying to concentrate on Nordie’s chatter. But it was hard to think straight with Cotter so close at hand. Carl was on her right, making the small luxury car seem very full. Nordie, Bill and George occupied the backseat. Their caravan of two cars wound slowly along the coast road toward Portland and the Penells’ estate, near Bramhall’s Hill.
Her thoughts drifted from Nordie’s humorous anecdotes. What was Cotter doing, treating her as if she were his date? She had gone along with it in front of her students, but she certainly didn’t intend to allow him to get away with his ploy, whatever it was. She planned to make it very clear to him that he was not irresistible in any sense of the word. She grimaced, shifting away from his touch. Looking down at her hands, she curled them tightly in her lap. Of course, acting the gentleman was more familiar to him than acting like a gay man, but neither act portrayed him as his true self.
Later, when the party had been going on for some time, Raine found herself in the same cluster of guests with Cotter. In the maze of well-dressed, wealthy people, the conversations had been inconsequential, boring or unbearably smug. She was stifling a yawn when she realized that Cotter was there. As she was about to leave, a fragment of the conversation caught her attention. A tall, distinguished-looking man was speaking a bit too loudly. He sloshed a glass of whisky in Cotter’s direction. “Say, old man, are you following this, or would you like me to explain?”
Raine’s eyes widened in disbelief at the man’s condescending remark. The sneer of superiority was evident, and she shifted worried eyes toward Cotter, who was leaning against a marble hearth. To Raine’s surprise, he smiled pleasantly back at the man. “I believe I’m following you, Josh. But at a respectable distance, of course.” Straightening, he nodded toward the group, but his dark eyes found hers and held them an instant longer than necessary. “If you’ll excuse me?”
Raine watched him walk away. She’d seen him retreat many times that week. He hadn’t known that when she brushed by him, more often than not she’d turn back and watch him; she didn’t know why. And after a week of watching him walk into the distance, she felt that she was a pretty fair authority on how he looked. This time there was something wrong. To the others she was sure he appeared calm and cool, but to her, his gait seemed less confident, not quite as assured.
A lump rose in her throat. Of course. The man was hurt. Cotter Hunt—wealthy, handsome, intelligent, the manager of a prosperous and vital business—was hurt by what this person had said. For some reason, Cotter felt inferior to these people. She was stunned to realize it, but he did understand how it felt to be looked down on, to be snubbed—but in a way she could never have guessed.
Turning back to face Josh, she lifted her chin, ready to fight for the underdog. She cleared her throat, halting murmured conversation in the small group, as all eyes turned to her. “Perhaps if you had a fraction of Mr. Hunt’s intelligence and acumen, you’d be a little more gracious toward him. Are you following me, old man, or would you like me to explain?”
She pivoted away as the other men burst out laughing. One of them clapped Josh on the back and guffawed loud enough for her to hear. “Say, Josh, the lady sure nailed you with that one. I’ll have to remember that remark the next time you give me bum advice on the market.”
When her anger receded, Raine felt awful, and for ten minutes she took refuge in the master suite’s powder room. How could she have insulted one of the guests like that, and in defence of a man she couldn’t stand? She hated the idea of returning to the party. But she couldn’t stay in the bathroom all evening. Rallying, she peeked out into the bedroom. A fluttering of sheer curtains drew her gaze to a balcony. She could hear raucous laughter filtering through the open doors and realized that the balcony must lead around to the main living room. Maybe, she thought, she could bear the evening by spending time on the balcony.
Breathing deeply the cool moist air, she stepped out under the stars. Distant lightning flashed, serving as a fiery backdrop to the majestic mountains far off in New Hampshire. Raine smiled despite her mood. Somehow the eloquence of nature could always make her feel at peace—especially when she was beset by man-made problems.
“Raine Webber, champion of the underdog.” The voice was so soft it seemed to fit right into the velvety night. Still, Raine’s knuckles tightened their grip on the iron railing as she turned toward the sound of Cotter’s voice. He was very still, standing partly hidden by a pillar. When she turned, he stepped out from behind it and walked to her side. Supporting himself on the railing, he looked off into the distance. “Why did you defend me in there?”
Her lips parted in surprise, “How did you…” The words trailed away as he turned back, his face so close, so masculinely beautiful, that she lost the ability to speak.
His whisper feathered her upturned lips. “It spread through the party like wildfire.”
She looked away toward the mountains. Cotter’s lips, so near her own, were unsettling. She tried to keep her mind on the subject at hand, whispering harshly, “The man is an insensitive fool. I’ve known too many people like that in my life to let him get away with that remark.” She added defensively, “What I said was a knee-jerk reaction.”
“Nothing personal, then.” The words sounded vaguely wistful, and Raine turned back to face him. For an instant his facade slipped and she could see the lonely man inside the shell. His dark, brooding eyes held hers as he added quietly, “So I may assume you still detest me?”
She’d meant to be stern with him, aloof and cool, but her resolve broke down when she confronted him. Her heart went out to him and she offered truthfully, “I—I don’t detest you, Cotter, not really. But I feel badly bruised; it was just so unnecessary.”
She could have sworn, for an instant, that relief shone in the dark depths of his eyes. But too soon it was gone, his eyes narrowing to slits as his sensuous mouth curved down. He stared at her for a long time, his mood edgy. “Damn it!” he began with a growl, startling her. “Why don’t you hate me? You should. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
She felt the sudden touch of his hard lips on hers, and his arms pulled her against him as he muttered, “Hate me” against her lips. She was s
tunned, confused by his abrupt action, and opened her mouth slightly to question. But before she could speak, she received a kiss that was pulsating and deep. One of his hands moved up her back and began a firm, tingling massage at the nape of her neck. The rough, exciting sensations he was creating in her sent conflicting messages to her brain that she couldn’t decipher and didn’t want to. Something that wasn’t Raine Webber, the shy, intellectual professor, sparked to life and took control of her gestures.
Her fingers spread, her hands searching along his broad back. He was so responsive, yet so solid, and the pounding of his heart tingled against the palm of her hand. Her lips quivered as she inhaled his musky scent, which mingled pleasantly with faint Cologne, the damp air and the soft aroma of wild sweetbrier.
His lips became more pliant, nipping at hers, and his tongue played along her teeth, moving with excruciating deliberation to explore the sensitive skin behind her lips. His kiss deepened farther, and some part of her, a part that she never guessed existed, opened itself fully to the sensuality of the moment.
He traced her cheek with gentle kisses, until he was caressing the back of her neck with his lips with a tenderness she hadn’t known in him. Her head lolled back as he began to be conscious of what he had allowed to happen.
With arms trembling to keep from crushing her to him, he groaned, pulling himself away. “Raine,” he pleaded, “go inside. I…this is no good.” He tensed, reaching for her. Fingers tightening on her arms, he bit out angrily, “I don’t want to be one of your strays. I don’t want your friendship. I just want to be left alone.”
Her lips parted slightly and she uttered an expression of pain. At her strangled cry, he dropped his arms as though her skin had burned him. Stumbling away, she backed into the cold iron railing and curled her shaky fingers around it to keep from taking him back into her arms. No man had ever affected her so deeply before. Every instinct in her demanded his touch. It had happened so quickly, almost as quickly as he had ended it. She swallowed, blinking up at him in confusion, mindful of his rejection while her body quaked.
He dropped his head, running a hand through his hair and leaning against the railing as though he, too, needed support. “Damn.” He shook his head and looked up at the sky. “Don’t look at me that way.”
Pressing trembling lips together, she turned away and adjusted her glasses. Unable to restrain herself, she rasped out shakily, “Why did you kiss me? Just to prove you could?”
His sigh was audible. “I don’t know.”
She laughed bitterly. “The truth? I didn’t think it was in you.”
“Raine.” He moved to face her. His features were tense. “I know that story about my being gay seems like a dirty trick to you. But I can’t explain why I lied.”
“Can’t or won’t?” she challenged.
“Okay, won’t,” he confessed with an unapologetic lift of one brow.
A breeze ruffled her hair, blowing it across her face. With an irritated motion she pressed it behind her ear. “Thanks. That makes it easy. Detesting you will be my pleasure from now on.”
“Damn it, Raine!” His fingers tangled in her hair so that he could turn her face up, forcing her eyes to meet his. He suddenly wanted her gentleness back, wanted her liquescent eyes to smile at him again. Going against all he’d ever thought he wanted, he avowed, “That’s not really what I meant. I—”
“Well, it’s what I meant!” With an angry shake of her head, she pulled away from his touch. “I’m going inside to find Carl. It’s getting unpleasant out here.”
A crack of thunder masked his gritted curse as the first cold drops of the approaching storm spiked Raine’s cheeks and bare shoulders. Once inside, she was relieved that no one could distinguish the raindrops from the tears that glistened on her face.
Chapter Six
“Why aren’t you getting ready to go clamming?”
Raine dropped the catsup bottle onto the plywood table and spun around at Cotter’s surprise visit to the empty stables.
“Oh,” she breathed, stunned by his appearance. “You startled me.” Trying to seem distant, she leaned back on the heavy plywood surface, nodding in the direction of the beach. “Actually, I didn’t figure I’d be much help. I don’t know how.”
He continued to walk toward her. “And you don’t care to learn.” It wasn’t a question. Though he didn’t smile, she could tell his remark was a veiled reminder of her aversion to the sea. Feeling disconcerted by the flash of memory, she turned away, recapturing the bottle she’d been about to catalogue. “I—I’m not finished. I’ve got to do this batch.” She picked up a marking pencil and wrote down the appropriate code on a recording sheet for the computerized data bank.
She felt his nearness and knew that he was leaning over her shoulder before he spoke. “What are you doing?”
Soundlessly she cleared her throat, moving slightly away from him as she reached for the next item. “You wouldn’t be interested.”
“Yes, I would.”
She frowned. Was he edging closer? She couldn’t be sure.
“Don’t you have trouble writing with those gloves on? Here.” Without waiting for her answer, he picked up a pencil. “Just tell me what to write.”
She recalled her former resolve. She was going to be civil, that was all. “Well,” she admitted, “we do usually work in two-man teams.”
“Then consider me your man,” he murmured quietly.
She stiffened at the words and the way they were said. His day must really have been boring for him to go to such lengths to get a rise out of her. She ignored him, pulling a hunk of overdone roast beef from the plastic garbage bag. “Okay. Start writing.” She put the meat on a small scale. “Put 203 grams in the column marked ‘waste.’ ” She pointed to a laminated legal-size piece of paper filled with columns of code explanations. “Look on that for the code number for beef and enter that.”
Raine kept every scrap of conversation between them strictly business as she pulled one thing and then another from the garbage bag. “034, cracker—one item, brand Sun Meadow, type saltines, composition E.”
He looked up from his writing. “E?”
“It’s a plastic wrapper. ‘E’ stands for plastic. Remember, earlier we had a composition ‘F’? That was paper.”
He nodded, entering the letter “E” in the appropriate column.
“Hmm.” She pulled out a scrap of paper. “I wonder…” She was staring at the sales receipt with some figures scribbled on the back when Cotter’s question interrupted her thoughts.
“What do you wonder? It’s an ‘F,’ isn’t it?”
She shook her head, almost smiling. Certainly he must wonder what her hesitation was. They’d already had several grocery sales receipts that had caused her no hesitation. She decided to explain. “Yes, it’s an ‘F.’ Go ahead and record it. But I was just wondering if this might be something that Detective Noonan could have meant.”
“Detective Noonan?” Cotter recorded the letter and laid the pencil down. “Is he the policeman Nordie told me about, the one who came out here last week?”
Raine nodded, deciding to keep the slip of paper. “Yes.” She bent down beneath the table and dropped the paper into a small metal box. “He asked me to save everything—any notes, figures, phone numbers, even doodles.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose with the back of her wrist, not wanting to look directly at Cotter. It had been four days since the party—since the kiss—four days since she’d even spoken to him. Since then, their paths hadn’t crossed. He’d been at his office in Portland until quite late every evening. That was until today. Unluckily, it looked as though he was going to be at home all day, because it was just past noon.
“What’s this guy done?”
She pulled a beer can from the bag. She examined it with undue care, not wanting to look at him. “He’s reputed to be some sort of powerful crime boss, I guess. Detective Noonan says they’re trying to get evidence on him for any one of several felonies—d
rug trafficking, loan-sharking, pimping and extortion.” She fingered the can in her hand, “095, beer can—one item—”
He broke in. “I don’t know, Raine. This sounds pretty dangerous to me. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you and the kids to be involved.”
She looked up at him, surprised. “Why?”
“Why?” He looked down into her wide eyes. “Extortion? My God! What if this man found out his trash is being checked by the police—and that a naive lady professor is helping. What do you think they’d do, come over and ask you nicely to stop? I thought you knew better than that.”
She stiffened at his remark. “Well—well, first, the kids aren’t involved. I’m doing this all on my own. And about its being dangerous, I consulted Detective Noonan on that. He said as long as the whole block is being monitored, they wouldn’t get suspicious. He said even if this Ed Fusco did get curious enough to check with the university, he’d find that the project had been funded six months ago—long before the investigation began—plus, since Nordie is involved in the project, it would be only natural for us to use your service. Detective Noonan said the whole project would be considered just a coincidence.” She looked away from his probing, doubtful eyes, lowering her gaze to obscure all but the can from her view. “I’m satisfied. I can’t help it if you’re not. Brand, Old Country Dark, composition—”
“I just hope you’re right,” he interrupted her mechanical recital. “And I damn well hope Dectective Noonan is one hell of a cop, too. I don’t relish the idea of my sister and a bunch of innocent kids being mixed up with gangland bosses.”
Raine swallowed; attempting to go on, but she felt an unreasonable stab of pain when she wasn’t included in his concerns. “Uh, composition ‘R.’ ”
