Guarding Laura

by Susan Vaughan

  Dangerous.

  Was this time out of time all they had? She said they had no future. When the danger ended, she intended they go back to their separate lives.

  Not if he could help it.

  She had so much pain to overcome, but not alone. She was so brave, so strong, with his support, she could move on to a future they would build together.

  With more children.

  He lifted a heavy hand to her hair, smoothing the tumult of golden silk with trembling fingers. He kissed her sweet mouth gently and held her close, wanting, needing to keep their bodies connected awhile longer, linking them in the only way he could for now.

  He felt her raise her head and shift position. She sighed. He saw that she was still dazed from their lovemaking. Then she leaned forward and lightly kissed his chest. The brush of her soft mouth triggered heat in his loins again.

  She blushed, and her hand went automatically to her throat to close her collar, but the sweatshirt she was still wearing had none.

  “Don’t hide from me, Laura,” Cole said softly. He traced the highest scar with a finger, soothing the reddened ridge that formed a jagged arc up the side of her neck. “You’ve survived more than any one person should ever have to endure. Those scars are badges of courage.”

  “Scars, yes…” Her eyes widened in what seemed to be fear, and she tugged down her sweatshirt, twisted and bunched up under her arms, to cover herself. “It’s late.”

  A jarring dinging noise turned their heads around.

  “The brownies,” she said. “I have to get down.”

  For the first time, he noticed the rich aroma of baking chocolate. It filled the room, masking the scent and aura of their loving.

  She kept her eyes averted as he lifted her down, separating their bodies. Quickly she stepped into her jeans and stuffed her panties in a pocket. With one hand, she tugged her shirt down as if to conceal her entire body.

  He made a quick trip to the bathroom, and when he returned, she was sliding the brownies from the oven.

  When she’d set down the hot pan on a burner to cool, Cole pivoted her to him. He cupped her chin and nailed her with a challenging stare. “You can’t pretend it didn’t happen. We burned each other up. Whatever else time has erased, we still have that. You were right there with me.”

  She shook her head, her translucent skin waxen with exhaustion. “I know. But it was just because of the…emotion of the moment. It can’t happen again. We can’t go back.”

  His gut clenched with worry. After so many years, he hoped he again understood her needs and drives. If he didn’t, if he couldn’t reach her, they had no chance.

  “Not back. Forward,” he said, mental fingers and toes crossed. “Your survivor’s guilt is talking. And guilt for more than the car crash that took our baby. You urged me to let go my guilt about my father. Take your own advice, sweetheart.”

  Suspicion crinkling her eyes, she paused from wrapping foil over the brownie pan. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve forgiven me for the carelessness that made you pregnant, but have you forgiven yourself for that same carelessness?”

  “You don’t understand. There’s too much pain. There’s more….” Shaking her head, she slipped off to the bedroom.

  Letting her go hurt, but she needed time to think.

  For him, their loving meant more than the emotion of the moment. Sex could never be simple between them. Gentle and kind, courageous and vulnerable, she never backed down. She challenged him to be the man he’d made himself, not the bitter biker with a chip on his shoulder as big as a humvee.

  Or was he only kidding himself? Maybe she wanted no more from him than a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Did she need him only so long as she was in danger? To her was he still a Harley hoodlum? Doubt’s long stinger pierced his heart.

  Hardly aware he was rubbing his chest, he shuffled to the couch and spread the covers. He might as well rest, but he wouldn’t sleep. More turmoil spun in his mind.

  A son. Michael. They’d made a son.

  His heart swelled with love and anguish. He felt like the ancient Greek Prometheus who stole fire from the gods. Cole had dared to steal love, another heavenly fire. Having his guts chewed over and over by a vulture was the Greek’s punishment. Grieving for his lost son chewed Cole to shreds. Grief would gnaw at him every day from now on.

  And Laura had suffered that torture for the last ten years. She’d nurtured their child within her, had loved him and wanted him. And the accident that took him from her had almost killed her. That’s why when the brake line sabotage caused another accident she clutched her belly and murmured.

  Now he realized what the disjointed, mumbled words were. She’d been saying, My baby…my baby.

  He looked down to see his hands trembling with relief that Laura had survived. God, she’d overcome death over and over. He had to keep her safe this time.

  So she was right to reject him. Sex between them would complicate matters too much. Complicate and maybe compromise protecting her and finding the scumbag hit man Janus.

  Cole clicked off the light. His first resolve had been the right one. Stow his hormones and his emotions in his Harley saddlebags and do the job.

  Chapter 11

  Dawn crept in with a cool, misty summer rain that veiled the world and kept most vacationers indoors.

  Laura would teach no sailing or tennis that day. The sailing-race celebration would have to wait, so she stowed the brownies in the refrigerator. Puttering about, cleaning and straightening, she worked around Cole, who tapped away on his laptop computer at the table. Instead of using the telephone line, he set up a miniature satellite receiver. Top secret, he said, cutting-edge technology necessary in a rural area where ordinary wireless was useless.

  With a torn T-shirt, she dusted the small tables around the couch, the funny little one made from a power company spool and the other low one of bamboolike plastic. She smiled. Until a few months ago, she would have turned up her nose at such tacky furniture. Now she counted herself lucky to have a roof over her head.

  She glanced up at a mumbled curse from Cole. He was utterly focused on the screen, his back to her.

  Being cooped up with him in her cabin had her grinding her teeth. After their lovemaking last night, every molecule of her being was tuned to his frequency. He sat quietly working, but didn’t merely occupy space. He controlled it. He dominated the entire room.

  The scent of his soap and shampoo seemed to follow her. His wide back looked too sexy and touchable. She longed to run her hands across his shoulders, down the ridge of bone covered with thick muscle that shifted and flexed with his every movement. Her fingers tingled with the remembered rasp of his chest hairs and the hard bulge of sinew beneath. Even the tapping sound of his fingers on the keys aroused her senses.

  Yes, she had a memory to tuck away for later, a memory of heated passion and emotions on overload, but at this moment the memory tormented her with the desire for more.

  And more would be a disaster.

  In their frenzy to possess each other, she’d forgotten her other scar, the surgical one on her abdomen. Since she’d remained partially clothed, Cole hadn’t noticed. She’d made sure of that afterward.

  Laura would conceal her sad secret if she could, but she would not lie to him. If she succumbed again, he would see the scar and surely ask. And she would have to answer.

  Seeing rejection in his eyes was what she expected, but pity or sympathy would tear her apart. So she needed to be strong, to resist temptation.

  Finished with the dusting, she wandered to the kitchen, sidling past Cole at the table. Over his shoulder, she glimpsed the name Marisol in an e-mail.

  Just what she needed to quell her libido. And ignite her temper.

  After making love with her, how dare he exchange notes with another woman! Laura slammed the empty brownie pan she’d neglected to soak into the sink and twisted on the faucet full force. She attacked the baked-on cake bits with steel wool.<
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  “You find Alexei Markos in that sink? Or something else grinding your gears?” Sarcasm colored Cole’s voice.

  Her hand fluttered to her collar, then to her burning cheek. She had no right to be jealous. Hadn’t she told herself a hundred times that they had no future? Add to that she’d been snooping.

  How to explain the fit of uncharacteristic temper? “Sorry. It’s just being cooped up.” With you. “I’m used to being active, to being outdoors.” She rinsed the pan and deposited it in the dish drainer.

  Drying her hands, she turned and shrugged. “I enjoy cooking, but I’ve discovered that I hate cleaning. I’d rather scrape paint off a boat hull or pick up seventy-five tennis balls or catalog the cross-references for third-century Aegean pottery than clean house.”

  He tilted the chair back on its rear legs and folded his arms. “The domestic type you’re not. The maternal type is more like it. You’re damn good with those kids.” His eyes softened to a dusky blue, and he held out his right hand.

  She wanted to accept it, to let him fold her into his arms, to tell him she loved him. But she couldn’t. If she did, she’d have to tell him she could never have his babies.

  Her heart thumping painfully, Laura skirted the table and sat opposite him. The laptop lid suited her as a wall. “Are there any reports on Markos?”

  The canted chair clacked down to four on the floor. “He seems to have vanished again. The operatives tracking him must have their heads up their asses.” He scratched his jaw and frowned. “I’ve been going through the background checks on guests and employees.”

  “And?”

  “And zip.” He slapped the laptop closed. At least the table remained between them. “Everybody’s cleaner than that pan you reamed out. Nobody who could be Janus, but some folks who need money. Who doesn’t? Even Stan. This resort is in hock to the bank for the next forty years.”

  She clucked her tongue. “You can’t suspect Stan Hart!”

  “Wouldn’t have confided in him if ATSA wasn’t sure of him.”

  “Anyone else?”

  He tapped a pencil on his computer lid as he ticked them off. “The Van Tassel sisters are living on a small pension. Rudy Damon is trying to borrow funds to buy into a Broadway play. Martin Rhodes’s dental practice is mortgaged to a casino in Connecticut. How’s that for boring, solid citizens?”

  She chuckled. “I’ll remember not to go to Dr. Rhodes for any fillings. But you don’t suspect any of them?”

  “Except for our boy Burt Elwell. There’s too much that doesn’t fit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Whoever has arranged some of your “accidents” has been damned clumsy. The brake line tampering might have worked. But the boat switch wasn’t surefire. Not professional.”

  “I see what you mean. So if Markos hasn’t found me, hasn’t sent this Janus here, who has been trying to kill me?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question.” He reached across the table, palm up, an invitation she should resist. His wolf’s eyes softened with his crooked smile. When she kept her hands in her lap, he scowled and withdrew his hand. “My money’s on Elwell for the boat switch. Who else would have known about the damaged boat or known what to do?”

  “But why?” She shoved her chair back and crossed to the window beside the door. Guilt at rejecting him stabbed her, but she had to keep distance between them. Gazing out at the drizzle, she said, “Why would Burt want to harm me? He seems to like me.”

  “He likes expensive toys. His outboard. A windsurfer. Remember that Harley Classic he’s saving for? Same reason he might’ve done the burglaries.” The scrape of his chair told her he’d stood up.

  When she sensed his body heat at her back and breathed in his scent, she knew this cabin was too confining. How would she resist him if he persisted in pursuing her?

  Then his words sank in. “You said something once about selling me out. Is that what you think? That Janus or Markos paid Burt or someone else here to—” She couldn’t bring herself to utter the words.

  “To off you?” He curled his big hands around her shoulders. One hand fingered her hair where she’d fastened it at her nape. “It’s possible. But the kid? He’d pilfer cameras and CDs, but murder? I doubt it. And I’ve even checked and eliminated my ATSA team. Who’s left?”

  She suppressed a shiver of awareness at his touch. “Um, what about fingerprints on the remaining boat?”

  He flipped her hair aside and began rubbing her neck. “Nothing. Clean as a brand-new set of porker pipes. If Isaacs had found Burt’s prints, it would’ve proved nothing. He was in the boat shed yesterday, remember? They didn’t touch the skiff in there. The switch could’ve happened before that.”

  With the gentle rotation of his massaging hand, the tension melted from her shoulders, and a different tension invaded. Laura’s skin heated, and her knees grew weak. She could focus only on Cole’s touch and the rumble of his voice, not on what he was saying. If she turned to face him, he’d kiss her. And that would lead…

  A vision coalesced in the dappled droplets on the window-pane—the two of them tangled in the sheets on her iron-framed bed.

  A rainy day and nowhere to go. Except to Cole.

  She was in big trouble.

  The fragility of the bones and soft flesh beneath Cole’s hands underscored her vulnerability.

  Breathing deeply to ease the tight band of fear for her in his chest, he considered how unobtrusively she’d slipped beneath his skin, how her apple scent, her soft voice, her vibrancy were invading the very marrow of his existence. Being so near to her kept him in a constant state of semiarousal that their frenzied lovemaking last night had only increased.

  He cared for her again, more than he’d realized. More than he should. They had their past—and a lost baby—in common. They’d rediscovered the friendship and understanding that had once bound them.

  And sex. In each other’s arms, they came alive, they burned, they welded into one. Past and present fused with the joining of their bodies and souls to sear away pain and brand them only with ecstasy.

  But was it enough in the face of so much remembered pain?

  Outta your league, boy.

  She’d learned to survive on the street. She’d given up luxury and a closet full of designer clothes. She was tough and smart, but still too classy, too generous, too everything for him. She needed him now because he could protect her, but as soon as she was safe, she’d go back to her high-society life. She wouldn’t need him then.

  He had to remember that. Last night’s revelations and passionate aftermath had inflated his hopes. Rather than let passion weave its spell and blind him to the facts, he’d better back off.

  He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped aside. He cleared his throat. “It’s too wet for a walk, but how about a drive? The Avalanche hasn’t been on the road for a few days.”

  What he took for relief whooshed from her like air from a punctured tire. Laura snatched her windbreaker from the hook by the door. “Let’s go.”

  Cole used his cellular phone to alert Isaacs and Byrne to their plan.

  “The cell phone surprises me,” Laura remarked. “Why that instead of high-tech communicators?”

  He climbed into the SUV’s driver’s seat. “Talking into a lapel would attract more attention than yakking in a cellular phone. Everyone has one of these pressed to their ears. This cell is secure.”

  He and Laura made it as far as the inn before Stan waved them down with a request for the resort barbecue.

  “Tuesday is the Alderport Founder’s Day celebration,” Laura explained, tucking the grocery list in her jacket pocket as they drove away. “In the village, there’s a parade with floats, high school bands and craft sales, followed by fireworks. Tuesday I’ll have to help with the cooking for the barbecue the Harts provide guests and employees on Wednesday.”

  “That ought to put you out of harm’s way for a while.” And out of temptation’s reach.

>   Her smile suggested she welcomed the same relief.

  He wished to God the ATSA operatives on the street would roll up Markos or Snow would spot someone suspicious or Isaacs and Byrne would ID Janus—so this fiasco could end. He wished his time with Laura would end.

  That was a crock. He wished his time with Laura would never end.

  Hell.

  Out of harm’s way, Laura mused as she put away the tennis ball machine on Monday afternoon. When would it end? When would Markos be caught and her life return to normal? She was so used to looking over her shoulder that the constant fear clenching her stomach seemed the norm.

  Yesterday’s jaunt to town and the supermarket had refocused her on different priorities, but hadn’t helped her dilemma about Cole. From being cooped up in the cabin, they went to a closed, moving vehicle. The sheer domesticity of grocery shopping threw in her face the future she’d never have. And their outing showed her a new side of Cole.

  He shook his head at the bountiful produce heaped into tempting displays as he described the deprivation in the wake of the Taliban withdrawal from Kabul. What open-air markets they didn’t destroy offered only overripe fruit and nuts and a few elderly, stringy goats. Barefoot children scavenged in the ruins and begged in the streets. Along with ferreting out Taliban stragglers and caches of arms and explosives, Cole and his fellow operatives had directed food and medicine drops.

  Compassion and charity in the midst of danger and destruction. Love edged aside resolve and burrowed deeper into her heart. Beside the hollow part, the barren part.

  When he ambled over to meet her after she left the tennis court, seeing him gave her pulse such a kick that she bit her tongue. If she missed him this much after two hours, how would she cope with the next decade?

  Emitting small rumbles of satisfaction, he surrounded her with his arms and held her. Longer than was necessary to demonstrate their lover status. But objecting wasn’t in her.