One Tough Cookie

by E C Sheedy

"You should forget that first night, you know. I caught you by surprise. I couldn't have done it otherwise. Surprise is the main element in any attack. You know that."

  His gaze shot to meet hers. Great. Now she was reading his thoughts. Trying to play nice. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Yes, you do. You've got a full-blown little boy pout going on there. I took you down and you can't get past it. The flu is healing faster than your bruised male ego." She tore an end from his bread and dipped it in the soup. "You can't hold it against me that I know how to defend myself, you know. I said I was sorry."

  "You could have broken my arm."

  "I could have but I didn't, did I?"

  "No," he admitted. "You didn't." He paused and gave her a long, assessing look. "Could you have? Broken my arm?"

  She stared back at him. "Yes."

  He was interested. "Where did you learn that—that move you made on me? And better still, why?"

  "I took a few self-defense lessons before I left home. I thought if I was going to kick around the world alone, I'd better learn to take care of myself."

  Taylor figured she'd just given him the abridged version of the real story, but he let it pass. "I see." Without thinking, he picked up the spoon and ate some soup. The smile she gave him was pure gloat. Then she winked at him.

  He pushed the soup away. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

  She nodded. "Uh-huh. But don't worry, I'll grow on you. I'm really quite likable when you get to know me."

  "Who says I want to—get to know you?"

  She tilted her head and leaned toward him, a smile glinting in her eyes. "Why not? I'm a friend of Dan's. You're Dan's brother. Of course you want to. And I promise I won't feed you carpet lint ever again. Scout's honor.''

  Unknowingly she'd moved from the shadow to be caught in a ray of sunlight coming from the high window over the bed. The light touched her with warmth—made her glow—filtered through the gold of her hair to highlight the planes and angles of her oval face, burnish her honey-colored skin. And her eyes were the darkest sexiest blue he'd ever seen. Almost violet. Taylor sucked in a breath.

  She was beautiful. No. More than that. A total knockout.

  First he'd thought her plain, then pretty, now beautiful. Strange… As were the low-level stirrings under the sheet. Suddenly, getting to know her sounded like a hell of an idea. But first there was one thing he needed to clarify.

  "Just how good a friend of Dan's are you?" he asked pointedly, pinning her with his eyes.

  Her friendly smile slipped when she grasped his double meaning, and she moved back into shadow. "Very good. He's a good guy. The best. Like I said, when I pass this way, he plays host."

  "And you? What do you play?" He kept his gaze on her and casually stirred the now cool soup resting on his knees.

  She gave him a hard stare, then stood and lifted the tray from his legs. Without a word she moved to the door. There she turned back. "Maybe I should have broken your arm." She paused. "Maybe I will yet."

  The door closed with a dull thud and she was gone.

  Nice going, Taylor. The woman buys you medicine, runs errands for you, feeds you like a sultan, and you insult her. He owed her an apology. One leg was already on the floor when she marched back in the room.

  "Don't bother." She stood with her hands on her hips.

  He stared at her.

  "Don't bother apologizing," she added. "When I, uh, twisted your arm, shoved your face into the floor, I hurt you, insulted your virility. Now that you've insulted my, uh, virtue or whatever. I say we're even. Agreed?"

  "No insult intended. Just wanted to know where you and Dan stood with each other." And as to that hurt virility thing, a few rays of sun on her hair seemed to have healed it without a scar.

  A frown drifted across her forehead. "Now you know—not that it's any of your business."

  She was right and she was wrong. But now wasn't the time to tell her that. Instead, he held out his hand, and watched her move toward him. "Agreed," he said, as her fingers slid into his outstretched hand. On his fevered brow her hand had cooled, folded in his palm it warmed. Fired right into his chest.

  She jerked her hand back, anchored it against her hip, and made a fist of it. "That's settled then. Now put those legs back up on the bed, good lookin', and—" She turned to leave. "I'll reheat the soup."

  He watched her go, then did what he was told, got back on the bed. Stretching out, he put his hands behind his head and grinned. Maybe this waiting for his brother was going to work out just fine. Maybe a few more days in Spain was exactly what he needed.

  * * *

  When Willy woke up the next morning, she smelled coffee. She looked up from the sofa to see Taylor leaning in the kitchen doorway, drinking from a cracked mug, and watching her. Her hand, with no instruction from her brain, flew up to smooth her hair. He smiled and she cursed herself for the purely female gesture. Men read a lot into hair gestures, twirling, fluffing, flipping and all, or so she'd been told.

  He lifted his mug. "Coffee?" he asked in his rough baritone. It sounded like a come-hither voice after the hithering, a voice for pillow talk and promises. She liked it.

  "Great. But why are you out of bed? The doctor said five days at least. You're cheating." She stretched her legs over the side of the sofa and stood.

  "I'm not cheating. I'm cured." He followed the sweep of her legs before raising his eyes to hers. "I think it was the garlic soup that did it."

  "You look pale. I think you should go back to bed."

  "I think I should shave." He ran a hand over his beard-darkened face and grimaced. "Three days of this is about my limit. Besides, I've had enough of that bed to last me a lifetime."

  "Suit yourself, Monroe. It's your bod." And a damned fine one it is, she finished inwardly, admiring the curve of muscle in his arm. Even with a scruffy beard the man got a gold star. As she headed toward the kitchen, he remained standing in the narrow doorway, turning sideways to let her pass. When she was almost through, he reached his arm across the door and stopped her. Close enough to smell his coffee and peppermint scented breath, she straightened to her full height and waited. His nearness made her wary, but she gave him a direct gaze, hoping her nervousness didn't show.

  "Willy," he said softly. "I'm sorry. For what I said yesterday and for being a rotten, ungrateful patient. You've been great. I didn't mean to take my frustration out on you."

  "It's okay. Sick people are entitled to be grouchy," she mumbled. His green eyes were brighter today. Funny, she hadn't noticed those tiny gold flecks in them before.

  They gazed at each other and a world of quiet fell into the small space that separated them.

  "Are they entitled to anything else?" he asked, his raspy voice breezing across her cheek.

  The air started to vibrate and Willy swallowed, forcing down the arc of nerves rippling through her midsection. She didn't like what he was doing to her. She also couldn't take her eyes off him. God, he was going to kiss her, she could feel it. It was in his eyes, in the tilt of his head, and his mouth was moving toward hers. With a deft movement, she skittered under his raised arm. She managed to pour herself some coffee without spilling it before turning to face him.

  "'Entitled?'" Now there's a loaded word." She sounded casual enough and peered at him through the steam rising from her cup. "And you're right. You do need a shave."

  He walked toward her. She tensed but held her ground. When he was close enough, he reached behind her for the coffeepot, brushing her arm in the process. Too close, damn it. You're too close. Her eyes flashed a warning as Taylor slowly refilled his mug and returned the pot to the burner, again brushing her arm. He gave her a teasing look, topped with a grin. "Why do I have the feeling I've just had a narrow escape?"

  "Gee, I don't know, Monroe, but if I were you, I wouldn't press my luck."

  Unperturbed, he chucked her softly under the chin and grinned. "For now I
think I'll take your advice—about the shave at least."

  * * *

  While Taylor was in the bathroom, Willy put her bikini on under her baggy pants. Then, stuffing a large notebook in her canvas bag, she headed for the beach. It wasn't far from Dan's place, and it was obvious her patient could now look after himself. He looked healthy enough to her—a little too healthy. And she could use some time for herself.

  Passing quickly through town, she headed for the small beach to the left of the port area. She scarcely glanced at the exclusive shops or luxury yachts forming an open loop on the waterfront. Yachts from all over the world moored at the elegant Puerto Banus, and as if agreeing to coordinate, both shops and boats were a clean, brilliant white.

  She was early, but tourists were already taking up positions on the beach. By afternoon the women would be doffing their tops to indulge themselves in the strong Iberian sun. It was common practice along the Costa del Sol, and despite all the warnings about sun-damaged skin, she knew many of them wouldn't use sunscreen and would burn themselves raw.

  Lifting her hand to shade her eyes, Willy scanned the clear azure waters of the Mediterranean, morning bright and softened with a light breeze. The sky was crystal—a perfect Spanish day.

  She spread her towel and, without removing pants or T-shirt, sat cross-legged on it, and pulled out her notebook. She would work for, she glanced at her watch, two hours—then she would think about Taylor.

  Twenty minutes later, she was staring vacantly at the sea. When the pen she was holding fell from her slack hand and rolled onto the sand, she gave a frustrated snort and tried again. She managed another unproductive ten minutes, but her efforts to concentrate proved useless.

  She stretched out on the towel face down and rested her head over crossed arms. Her mind turned immediately to Taylor Monroe. Was he the one? she asked herself. The dangerous one? Her ultimate test?

  She hadn't liked the way he made her feel this morning, the way he'd looked at her mouth. She turned her head and sighed. Tell the truth, Willy, you've been ogling him all week. He's the most fascinatingly bad-tempered male you've ever had the misfortune to come across. With all that masculine superiority, power, good looks, and money to boot, he was definitely a pain maker. Every hard muscle in his body designed to make you weak in the knees, then weak in the head. And what was the end result? Pain. A whole load of it. She wanted no part of it—or him. She wasn't going to heel to a man, any man, any time. Her mother had done it for years, and for what?

  She shuddered when she thought of her mother, the beautiful Michelle Desmond, once a celebrated model, pleading, begging, whimpering for her husband to return home. The image burned in Willy's consciousness and her own body heat rose. She'd tried to soothe her mom, calm her. Tell her she could make it on her own, that with time she'd be okay. And she'd never forget her mother's response and the flood of tears that accompanied it.

  "You don't understand, Willy. You can't. I love him. I'll always love him. He's my life. I need him." And the tears and pleadings had continued.

  She shifted uncomfortably. Her mother's loss of pride had made her crazy—and sad. It had also strengthened her own resolve.

  She would never—ever—be that vulnerable to a man! If that was grand passion, she wanted no part of it. Love should be kept in check, not dominate your whole existence.

  Since the day she'd left New York over four years ago, she'd worked to ensure that kind of need took no root in her life. She was single-minded and purposeful—she'd made a plan and stuck to it. So she'd been tightly focused, maybe even obsessive, but damn it, it worked. She was strong, resourceful, and self-reliant. Well armored against dangerous emotions.

  Until Taylor Monroe.

  Thinking about Taylor's slow-firing eyes, she took a big gulp of fresh air. Maybe there was no defense against eyes like that, against a man like that. The thought was terrifying.

  Usually her height, strength, and bearing, not to mention her smart mouth, kept interested men at bay. She had a talent for turning would-be lovers into friends. Could she do that with Taylor? Did she want to? A coil twisted through her stomach and she tensed. Damn it. She wouldn't let hormones get the better of her. No frickin' way. Besides, he wasn't going to be here long and neither was she. He was probably already chafing to get back to New York. She just hoped he wouldn't drag Dan with him.

  "Hey there. If it isn't wild Willy."

  A shadow fell across the sand in front of her, and she turned, propping herself up on her elbows. When she saw who it was, her mood lightened. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes.

  "Elena," she said. "What are you doing here?"

  The extraordinarily tall, darkly beautiful woman returned the smile and sank to her knees opposite Willy. "Working. At least I will be in a couple of days. A video for the Spanish Tourist Bureau."

  "Hey, that's great."

  "It is, isn't it? But there's a couple of local girls not too happy about a Florida-born Cuban stealing the job, I can tell you. Especially one who can barely speak the language." She gave Willy an embarrassed grin.

  Willy laughed.

  "Are you still taking Spanish classes?" Willy asked.

  "Yes." Elena drew a long finger through the sand. "But it doesn't come easy. I don't have your head for languages."

  Willy shrugged. "I traveled. I learned. It's no big deal. Necessity more than anything."

  "Five languages? I'd call that a big deal, especially when I have trouble becoming fluent in one."

  "Another couple of months here, and you'll be speaking like a native.

  "Si." Elena smiled softly and then turned questioning. "Willy?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Have you seen Dan?"

  "I'm staying at his place, but I haven't seen him. Yet. He's still in Madrid. He's supposed to be back sometime next week."

  "Oh." The word dropped to the sand with a dull thud, heavy with disappointment.

  Willy cocked her head to one side. "That was a damned heavy 'oh.' What's going on?"

  "I was hoping to see him. I, uh, thought I might kind of run into him, that's all. But I'll be gone by then. We're filming in Ronda."

  "So come back when you're done. Ronda's not that far. What? An hour? Hour and a half? You can visit on the way back."

  "I don't know," she said. "If I showed up, chances are Danny would just take off again."

  "Not next week, he won't. We have work to do. Add to that his brother's here under full sail to talk him into going back stateside. I'm afraid poor Dan is trapped." Willy touched Elena's arm. "Come back. He'd want to see you."

  "Sure. About as much as he wants to see that brother of his."

  "Things aren't always what they seem, you know. Dan and Taylor might disagree a little." Willy chuckled. "Make that a lot. But Dan does love him. I'm sure of it—and differences can be resolved." Listen to me, she thought. Little Miss Optimism. But she liked Elena—and she adored Dan. It would be wonderful if they could get back together. Even grouchy old big brother couldn't disagree with that. She added, "Even your and Dan's differences."

  Elena played in the sand and then lifted her head to give Willy a long look. "I'll think about it." She smiled a bit too brightly. "But for now, what about a swim?"

  Willy welcomed the change of subject. Despite her good intentions, she was, by skirting the edge of Dan and Elena's relationship, in uncomfortable territory. She'd spent years avoiding the emotions that were causing both of them so much unhappiness. What the hell did she know about love anyway? Zip. Zero. Nada. And that was just how she wanted it.

  "Good idea," she said, jumping to her feet and stripping down to her bikini. "Let's go. Last one in buys lunch."

  "You're on." Elena stood up, and doffing both her T-shirt and bikini top in one clean lift, she ran to catch the streaking Willy.

  Chapter 3

  Forty-five minutes later, they were happily exhausted and heading back up the beach to Willy's abandoned towel. Thirty feet from it, Willy stopped in her s
andy tracks. A mild Spanish curse escaped through her compressed lips. He'd found her. Not that it was difficult. The beach area here wasn't that big.

  Elena shot her a questioning look. "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing. But prepare yourself. You're about to meet Dan's brother."

  Elena's eyebrows lifted slightly, and Willy followed her glance back toward her abandoned towel, now occupied by a dark, good-looking man who was watching them intently. He was wearing an open white dress shirt and suit pants. His feet were bare, and he was dangling a pair of wing tips between his raised knees.

  "Not bad," Elena said under her breath. "Not bad at all."

  "Oh, yes he is, Elena. Make no mistake about that," she whispered back. Very, very bad.

  Taylor's cool gaze traveled leisurely, and admiringly, over Willy's body, taking in the scrap of bikini that both covered and highlighted her toned figure. When his eyes slid from her to Elena, Willy smiled, wondering what effect her ravishing, bare-breasted companion was having on him.

  She had to hand it him. He kept his cool, not a trace of discomfort or the well-known tourist leer. Faced with Elena's body magic, that couldn't have been easy. A touch of class, she thought, when his eyes came back to rest on her.

  "You're a stubborn man, Monroe. You should be in bed." She reached for her bag and pulled out a smaller towel.

  "I was lonely," he answered in a low rasp, giving her a private smile. He coughed and lifted a hand to massage his throat.

  "Yeah, well, just don't have a relapse, okay? My nursing days are over." She turned then to Elena, who was busy donning her T-shirt. "Elena Ruiz, meet Taylor Monroe. Dan's brother from New York."

  "Hi." Elena offered her hand and Taylor took it.

  "Elena." He gave her a friendly nod, then seemed to remember something. "Ah, that Elena," he added. "You're even more beautiful than Dan said you were."

  When Elena's smile brightened, Willy knew it wasn't the compliment that did it. It was the fact that Dan had mentioned her to his brother. A thin slice of hope, but she took it. "Thank you." She turned a happy face to Willy. "I'd better go, I've got a bus to catch, but I'll see you in a few days, okay?" They hugged and Elena headed up the beach, a smile on her face big enough for sunrise.