Guarding Laura

by Susan Vaughan

  “Fiend.” As her fingers trailed down his belly, he gritted out the next words between clenched teeth. “I don’t want to flatten you again, Wile E.”

  “You won’t. And until you yield, I’ll just keep you pumped up—like my knee.” She gazed at him with enough heat in her golden-brown eyes to incinerate the bed. The moist, pink tip of her tongue crept out to lick her full lower lip. “What was that Pashtu word for get down?”

  He groaned as she scored one fingernail down his belly toward the more than ready anatomy in question. “Samla.”

  She smiled, a feline creature with her prey beneath velvet-sheathed claws. “Samla, big boy, samla.”

  Unable to withstand her sensuous torment any longer, Cole rolled to his side, pulling her full against him, skin to skin. “Be gentle with me, Murphy.”

  In reply, she clasped her hands behind his neck and reached up to cover his mouth with hers. Her tongue swirled around the textures of his inner lips, the underside of his tongue. He reveled in the taste of her—mint toothpaste and sensuous woman.

  Sliding lower, he dropped kisses down the curve of her elegant neck, along her breast bone, to one firmly rounded globe, where he closed his lips over the pink nipple. Sweeter than honey and cream.

  Laura’s answering moan was one of pleasure, not pain.

  His fingers found her moistness. Lord, she was ready for him, hot and tight and slick with wanting. With his thumb, he massaged the key nerves that would unlock her passion.

  When she arched off the bed and stripped away her boxers, he barely had time to reach for protection before covering her with his body and sliding into her welcoming heat. The throbbing ache of need instantly surged into a shimmering wave of pleasure. The texture of her skin was flower petals, but, injured or not, there was nothing soft about the fierce way she clamped herself around him to complete their joining.

  “Cole!” Tears trickled into her temples as she thrashed beneath him. “Please!”

  He couldn’t get enough of her. If sex was all they had, then he’d take it. And her. Only connected with her did he feel secure. Whole.

  Home.

  “Laura,” he rasped out. You’re mine. Mine.

  When he felt her satin contractions begin, he could hold release back no longer. Uttering a shout of ecstasy, he poured himself into her in a scalding tide of completion.

  Chapter 14

  Before the sailing class, Laura tried to minimize her obvious injuries. Makeup nearly concealed the scrape on her cheek, and long sleeves and lightweight slacks hid most of the jewel-toned bruises.

  On the dock, Laura and Cole had a talk with Butch and Zach about the man who’d been arrested the night before. Cole explained that the man they called Mr. Blow-Dry was the thief who’d taken Zach’s camera and Kay’s MP3 player, but probably hadn’t switched Laura’s skiff for the damaged one.

  Laura hugged both boys. “You guys were great to go to Mr. Stratton with your sharp observations. You’re my heroes.”

  They beamed. They blushed. Then they ran off, punching each other in the shoulder.

  When she noticed Cole’s tight mouth, she made a mental note to tell him later that he was her hero, too. He’d rushed off thinking he’d be able to tie up the case only to find Mr. Blow-Dry was the wrong man and Laura had faced a serious threat by herself. Clearly, he felt he’d failed her.

  Success for him was intertwined with his past and his need to prove himself. If he cared for her again, that was part of his emotional stew as well.

  Or maybe she should keep quiet. She didn’t want him to care more than he already seemed to, didn’t want him to think their relationship was more than sex and friendship. She’d initiated this morning’s lovemaking out of a deep, fierce need for him that had made her wanton, made her burn soul-deep for his touch, for his possession.

  He knew most of her body intimately, even the scars on her neck, but somehow she’d contrived to conceal the most telling one along with her secret.

  He believed that she disdained the hoodlum within him, no matter what respect and stature he’d earned in his work and as an honorable, kind and generous man. He deserved to know the real reason she must leave him once this horrible situation ended. It was the same reason he would ultimately resent her and reject her.

  But revealing the truth now would alter the way he looked at her and the way he thought of her, and she couldn’t face it. Not yet. Not while they still had time together. Cowardly of her. But there it was.

  After the sailing class ended, she and Cole helped Stan and the two ATSA officers masquerading as grounds crew set up tables for the afternoon barbecue. Her tennis class and any other regularly scheduled activities were canceled. Games and contests at the barbecue would take their place.

  Once the tables were arranged, Cole hustled her to her cabin and made her rest her knee until the barbecue. He tossed her an ice pack and immersed himself in his laptop.

  In his faded jeans that clung to his muscular thighs like Lycra and a black Harley T-shirt, he looked so masculine and handsome her heart did a little flutter kick. As he worked, he grumbled to himself and occasionally ran his capable fingers through already disheveled ebony hair.

  “Damn thing!” He slammed the laptop cover shut. “Frozen again. I hope to hell the hard drive’s not kaput.” He stomped off to a corner chair with his cell phone.

  He was concentrating so hard, he seemed to have walled her out. Laura picked up the Elizabeth Peters novel she’d started a week ago. The historical mystery, set in Egypt, would ordinarily suck her into its world, but today her mind and heart lingered with Cole. Something was wrong, but she didn’t think it concerned her situation.

  Later they walked to the barbecue under a July sun floating high in the azure sky. The aromas of barbecued chicken and other traditional summer treats feathered to them on the freshening breeze, but couldn’t dispel Laura’s concern for Cole. “Problems beyond the laptop crash?”

  Cole heaved a sigh and curled a hand beneath her hair and around her nape. The gesture of familiarity and affection pleased her. “It’s Marisol. The little girl in Colombia.”

  Laura peered at him with alarm. “Has something happened to her?”

  He gave her neck a gentle squeeze. “Nothing, no. Just glitches in the red tape. The State Department is balking at issuing her a visa. Something about no relatives or a sponsor. I can’t be the sponsor. ATSA already frowns on my connection to the San Sebastiano orphanage. Hell, I’m stymied. I’ve contacted everyone I know in D.C.”

  “I know a few people I could call,” she suggested. “Old colleagues of Dad’s.”

  He shook his head, his jaw firm, his mouth clamped. “No way. Too dangerous.”

  She stopped walking, wrapped her hand around his muscular forearm. The tension in it was electric. “But Markos already knows where I am. How can it hurt?”

  Removing his hand from her nape, he kneaded his own. His blue eyes burned with intensity. “As far as all those people you know are concerned, you’ve vanished. If you start calling bigwigs in Washington, it would take about three seconds for the word to get out. The vampires—news media to you—would descend and suck the life out of our op here. Janus and Markos would slip out of the trap, and we’d be back to square one.”

  Her heart twisted at the thought of that little girl not receiving the care she needed. Poor helpless little orphan. At least Laura had some defense against her enemy. “At least let me give you some names. You could call them.”

  He emitted an inarticulate rumble and strode on. “Same damn problem once I told them who gave me their name.” His fists were clenched at his side.

  “Mom and Dad could be her sponsor,” she suggested, hobbling along to keep up. Her knee felt better, but she couldn’t match his long-legged stride.

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Laura.” Chagrined, he slowed his pace to suit hers. “Thanks, but their being out of the country doesn’t cut it. There’s a short window here. The doc’s got a date set for the surgery
, a week from now. After that he goes to Africa for a year with Doctors Without Borders. This guy’s a pediatric orthopedic specialist. I don’t know if I can arrange the same deal with another surgeon. And the older Marisol gets, the chancier the repair job will be.”

  “And here you are, stuck with me.”

  He turned on his heel so fast her head spun. His mouth was hard, and his wolf’s eyes drilled hers. “Don’t ever think that way, Laura. Keeping you alive and safe is my mission. My only mission. You’re not to worry about Marisol or any of that. I’m here to protect you with my life. I can deal with the surgery glitches once this mess is all over.”

  “And Markos is behind bars.” She smiled to try to ease his tension. And hers. “Promise me that if there’s any way I can help, you’ll ask.”

  “You got it, sweetheart.” He cupped her elbow, and they proceeded to the broad, sloping lawn between the inn and the beach. He cleared his throat, and a wry grin quirked his lips. “Don’t think the irony has escaped me.”

  She widened her eyes in her most innocent expression. “Why whatever do you mean?” She knew, but she would wait for him to express it.

  He narrowed his eyes, but shrugged. “The fact that for Marisol’s sake I’m asking for the kind of connections I’ve always resented.”

  “I’m so proud. You got it.” She poked him in the bicep with an index finger. “Not only that, but you’re opening doors with your own credentials, your own influence.”

  “Like hell. I don’t see a visa with Marisol’s name on it dropping from heaven.”

  “You talked this orthopedic specialist into the surgery, didn’t you?” When he merely sputtered and slapped on his sunglasses, she grinned. “I rest my case.”

  As soon as they neared the picnic tables, crowded with families and laden with food, Stan marched up to Cole and pumped his hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your handling that…situation last night,” he said, his usually genial expression overlaid with distress.

  “Glad I could help.”

  “I don’t know what the world’s coming to,” continued the resort owner. “You try to make a family resort like this safe for folks.”

  “And it is safe. Look at all these families here.”

  Stan shook his head, refusing to be swayed from his bout of pessimism. “And there’s the vandalism in the theater. Lucky you got your motorcycle out earlier. Looks like I’ll have to button up every building from now on.”

  “Stan, I’m sure it was just teenagers fooling around,” Laura put in. “An aberration. Still, locking up seems like a good idea.”

  “I hate to bring this up today, Stan,” Cole said, “the gas heater in Laura’s cabin still leaks. Does young Elwell know what he’s doing?”

  Stan Hart ran his fingers through his wispy hair. His morose expression exaggerated his horsy features. “That blasted kid. Too much of a slacker. I don’t care if he is Jake’s nephew. I’ll send him to tackle it again.”

  Worry pinched the resort owner’s mouth as he continued. “They say bad luck comes in threes. Lord knows what can happen next.” Waving his arms in frustration, he hurried off to marshal one of the children’s contests.

  “Mr. Stratton, Mr. Stratton, you gotta help me.” Zach dashed up to Cole, nearly barreling into him in his haste.

  “Hey, buddy, what’s up?” Cole frowned. “Not another suspicious character, I hope.”

  “No way.” The boy danced a step back, steadying himself. “The three-legged race is about to start. Butch and his dad are ready to go. I wanna beat them, but my dad’s not here. The prize is a watermelon—a whole watermelon!”

  Cole leaned down, his hands planted on his knees. “And you need a partner. I’m your man, Zach.” He glanced around and gave a barely perceptible nod to Vanessa.

  “Suh-weet.” Latching on to Cole’s arm, Zach tugged him toward the racecourse beyond the picnic tables.

  Laura’s heart melted at the tableau the two made. She waved Cole off and quickly lost sight of the two in the milling throng of shorts-clad people.

  Vanessa ambled to Laura’s side. “After my screwup last night, I’m surprised he trusts me near you.” The redhead carried a platter of fresh vegetables cut in curlicues and arranged in decorative swirls.

  Laura helped herself to a carrot curl. “We both know none of last night’s disaster was your fault.”

  “Thanks.” Vanessa placed her burden on a table laden with traditional and gourmet fare. “Just look at this food. I feel like we’re here for a medieval feast.”

  “The groaning board for sure.” Laura smiled, glad to have her cheerful friend back instead of the government officer.

  Munching on a miniature quiche, Vanessa quipped, “Of course I diet only in leap years.”

  Laura laughed. “I thought this was going to be a simple cookout with chicken and potato salad.”

  “So Stan said, but I think Joyce is a frustrated banquet chef.” Vanessa strolled with Laura around the tables and toward the barbecue grills.

  Laura wondered if the officer was back, herding her, to ensure more safety in the middle of the crowd.

  Clutches of adults lounged and chatted in folding chairs. Toddlers played hide-and-seek beneath the food tables, and older kids stuffed their faces with chips and nachos from the appetizer array.

  By the chips, the Tolman twins and Kay clustered around a boy Laura hadn’t seen before. His surfer-blond hair suited the dazzling flowered shorts and water sandals he sported. At least this boy was closer to Kay’s age. And without Malibu Barbie mascara and hairdo, Kay looked fresh and sweet, as she should. Burt Elwell was nowhere in sight and hopefully out of the picture. Laura’s too-much-too-soon chat with Kay’s parents must have made a dent.

  Bea Van Tassel waved long-handled tongs at them. “You two have to taste this chicken.” She licked her lips. The barbecue sauce’s shade, a tomato-y deep maroon, matched her lipstick and her peasant dress.

  The two grills were metal barrels sliced in half lengthwise and fitted with legs. Several dozen chicken pieces brushed with spicy sauce simmered over glowing briquettes.

  Rudy Damon joined them. An elegantly tied royal-blue cravat—who but Rudy wore a cravat?—bloomed from the opening of his silk shirt. “Okay, Miss V., I’m here to relieve you.”

  Bea untied her apron and handed it over. “About time,” she sniffed. “I’m supposed to be helping with the desserts.”

  “Smells delicious,” Laura said. “Is that sauce…Bea’s creation, Rudy?” The Van Tassel sisters were sweet to help out with the party, but Laura crossed her fingers that Bea hadn’t also contributed to the cuisine.

  “Never.” The director fanned himself with a spatula. “Stan’s secret family recipe. He wouldn’t even let his wife watch him mix it. Do you want a breast or a leg?”

  Laura could barely contain a chuckle. Bea’s only chore was turning the chicken. She hadn’t concocted the sauce. “I’ll have some chicken soon. Right now I want to watch the race.”

  After they strolled off, Vanessa grinned at Laura. “For a minute I was afraid she’d poison the entire crowd.”

  “So she feeds you, too.” Enjoying a laugh together felt good, Laura thought, as they made their way toward the starting line.

  Vanessa gestured toward the racers. “For such a big, tough guy, Cole has a way with kids. My little nephews—my brother’s two Hell’s Angels—consider him their hero. He should have some kids of his own.”

  Laura’s misty gaze followed her unwitting friend’s gesture. She spotted Butch, paired with a dark-haired Asian man who looked exactly like him. Beside them Zach was finishing tying his ankle to Cole’s. A grin on his face, Cole placed a steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  Cole—gentle, protective, affectionate and affable with children. Vanessa was right. He should have his own.

  Seeing him with that boy and with the other men and their sons sent ribbons of warmth and sadness curling through her. When she saw him like that, how could she protect
her heart? How could she conceal her secret?

  The startling clarity hit her that Zach was only two years older than their son would’ve been. Michael would have been nine.

  Tears clouded her vision and clogged her throat. Her stomach heaved, and she clutched at it. She couldn’t have eaten barbecued chicken without gagging. Like a panicked bird on a window, her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest, and she had to turn away.

  “What is it, Laura? Something between you and Cole is eating you alive. And it’s not fear of the danger stalking you,” Vanessa remarked gently, patting her arm.

  “Ancient history, old business.” Laura reached for a glass of wine from a tray. She downed two gulps as though it were water.

  Vanessa snorted. “Unfinished business, if you ask me. The forest service should dial the fire danger to the red zone. When the two of you are near each other, the flames leap so high everyone within a mile gets singed.”

  A thousand emotions battered Laura in a barrage of invisible arrows. Each tiny missile drew blood. She needed a few minutes alone. “Excuse me. I’m going inside to see if Joyce needs help with the desserts.”

  Laura hobbled up the inn stairs and inside before the tears flowed. She ducked into the small TV room off the lobby and sank onto a linen-upholstered loveseat.

  Her throat ached as tears slid down her cheeks. She willed the tears to stop. She couldn’t change the past any more than she could stop the tide. She couldn’t change herself, to give Cole the family he wanted and needed. So it was idiotic to cry like this. But the tears wouldn’t stop no matter how she tried to control them. She mopped at her eyes with the single flimsy tissue she found in her pocket.

  “My dear, whatever is the matter?” Bea Van Tassel’s gentle tone of concern only made the tears flow faster. The plump woman sat beside her.

  “Here, Laura,” Doris handed her a packet of tissues from her tote bag. “Sometimes a woman needs a good cry. You just get it all out.” Folding her lanky body, she parked herself on a footstool, her bag on her lap.

  “There, there,” Bea soothed, patting Laura’s shoulder. “Man trouble?”