For The Love Of Lilah tcw-3

by Nora Roberts

  There was a good chance he'd been engrossed in his work and hadn't noticed when she'd walked by to her room. If she'd gone out to dinner, surely she'd be home by now. No one could eat for five hours. But he had to know.

  He went quietly. There was a light in Suzanna's room, but the others were dark. At Lilah's door, he hesitated, then knocked softly. Feeling awkward, he put his hand on the knob. He'd spent the night with her, he reminded himself. She could hardly be offended if he looked in to see if she was asleep.

  She wasn't. She wasn't even there. The bed was made; the old iron head–and footboards that had probably belonged to a servant had been painted a gleaming white. The rest was color, so much it dazzled the eyes.

  The spread was a patchwork quilt, expertly made from scraps of fabrics. Polka dots, checks, stripes, faded reds and blues. It was piled high with pillows of varied shapes and sizes. The kind of bed, Max thought, a person could sink into and sleep the day away. It suited her.

  The room was huge, as most were in The Towers, but she'd cluttered it and made it cozy. On the walls that were painted a dramatic teal were sketches of wildflowers. The bold signature in the corners told him she'd done them herself. He hadn't even known she could draw. It made him realize there was quite a bit he didn't know about the woman he was in love with.

  After closing the door behind him, he wandered the room, looking for pieces of her.

  A baker's rack was packed with books. Keats and Byron jumbled with grisly murder mysteries and contemporary romances. A little sitting area was grouped in front of one of her windows, a blouse tossed carelessly over the back of a Queen Anne chair, earrings and glittering bracelets scattered over a Hepplewhite table. There was a bowl of smooth gemstones beside a china penguin. When he picked the bird up, it played a jazzy rendition of "That's Entertainment."

  She had candles everywhere, in everything from elegant Meissen to a tacky reproduction of a unicorn.

  Dozens of pictures of her family were scattered throughout. He picked up one framed snapshot of a couple, arms around each other's waists as they laughed into the camera. Her parents, he thought. Lilah's resemblance to the man, Suzanna's to the woman were strong enough to make him certain of it.

  When the cuckoo in the clock on the wall jumped out, he jolted and realized it was twelve–thirty. Where the hell was she?

  Now he paced, from the window where she'd hung faceted crystals to the brass urn filled with dried flowers, from bookcase to bureau. Nerves humming, he picked up an ornate cobalt bottle to sniff. And smelted her. He set it down hastily when the door opened.

  She looked...incredible. Her hair windblown, her face flushed. She wore some sheer drapey dress that swirled around her legs in bleeding colors. Long multicolored columns of beads danced at her ears. She lifted a brow and closed the door.

  "Well," she said. "Make yourself at home."

  "Where the hell have you been?" The demand shot out, edged with frustration and worry.

  "Did I miss curfew, Daddy?'–' She tossed a beaded bag onto the bureau. She'd lifted a hand to remove an earring when he whirled her around.

  "Don't get cute with me. I've been worried sick. You've been out for hours. No one knew where you were." Or who you were with, he thought, but managed to bite that one back.

  She jerked her arm free. He saw the temper flash hot into her eyes, but her voice was cool and slow and unmoved. "It may surprise you, Professor, but I've been going out on my own for a long time."

  "It's different now."

  "Oh?" Deliberately she turned back to the bureau. Taking her time, she unfastened an earring. "Why?"

  "Because we..." Because we're lovers. "Because we don't know where Caufield is," he said with more control. "Or how dangerous he might be."

  "I've also been looking out for myself for a long time." Deceptively sleepy, her eyes met his in the mirror. "Is the lecture over?"

  “It's not a lecture, Lilah, I was worried. I have a right to know your plans."

  Still watching him, she slid bracelets from her arms. "Just how do you figure that?"

  "We're–friends."

  The smile didn't reach her eyes. "Are we?"

  He jammed impotent hands into his pockets. "I care about you. And after what happened last night, I thought we...I thought we meant something to each other. Now, twenty–four hours later you're out with someone else. Looking like that."

  She stepped out of her shoes. "We went to bed last night, and enjoyed it." She nearly choked over the bitterness lodged in her throat. "As I recall we agreed there'd be no complications." Tilting her head, she studied him. Her easy shrug masked the fact that her hands were balled tight. "Since you're here, I suppose we could arrange a repeat performance." Her voice a purr, she stepped closer to run a finger down the front of his shirt. "That's what you want from me, isn't it, Max?"

  Furious, he pushed her hand aside. "I don't care to be the second act of the evening."

  The flush vanished, leaving her cheeks pale before she turned away. "Congratulations," she whispered. "Direct hit."

  "What do you want me to say? That you can come and go as you please, with whomever you please, and I'll sit up and beg for the scraps from the table?"

  "I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to leave me alone."

  "I'm not going anywhere until we've straightened this out."

  "Fine." The cuckoo chirped out again as she unzipped her dress. "Stay as long as you like. I'm getting ready for bed."

  She stepped out of the dress, tossed it aside, then walked over to her vanity in a lacy, beribboned chemise. Sitting, she picked up her brush to drag it through her hair.

  "What are you so angry about?"

  "Angry." She set her teeth as she slapped the bristles against her scalp. "What makes you think I'm angry? Just because you're waiting for me in my room, incensed that I had the nerve to make plans of my own when you didn't have the time or inclination to spend an hour with me. Unless it was in the sack."

  "What are you talking about?" He took her arm, then yelped when she rapped the brush hard on his knuckles.

  "I'll let you know when I want to be touched."

  He swore, grabbed the brush and tossed it across the room. Too enraged to see the surprise in her eyes, he hauled her to her feet. "I asked you a question."

  She cocked her chin. "If you've finished your temper tantrum–" He nearly lifted her off her feet.

  "Don't push," he said between his teeth.

  "You hurt me." The words exploded out of her.

  "Last night, even this morning, I was worth a little of your time and attention. As long as there was sex. Then this afternoon, you couldn't 'even look at me. You couldn't wait to dump me off here and get away from me."

  "That's crazy."

  "That's just what happened. Damn you, you made up lame excuses and practically patted me on the head. And tonight, you've got an itch and you're annoyed that I wasn't here to scratch it."

  He was as pale as she now. "Is that what you think of me?"

  She sighed then, and the anger dropped out of her voice. "It's what you think of me, Max. Now let me go."

  His grip loosened so that she slipped away. "I had something on my mind this afternoon. It wasn't that I didn't want to spend time with you."

  "I don't want excuses." She went to the terrace doors to fling them open. Maybe the wind would blow the tears away. "You've made it clear how you feel."

  "Obviously I haven't. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, Lilah." But he'd lied to her, he thought. That had been his first mistake. "Just before I came to pick you up, I saw Caufield in the village."

  She spun around. "What? You saw him? Where?"

  "I was waiting at a light, and I saw him on the sidewalk. He's dyed his hair and grown a beard. By the time I'd realized, I was caught up in traffic and had to double back. He was gone."

  "Why didn't you tell me you'd seen him?"

  "I didn't want to worry you, and I wasn't going to have you gettin
g some lamebrained idea about hunting him up yourself. You have a habit of acting on impulse, and I–"

  "You jerk." The flush was back in her cheeks when she stepped forward to give him a shove. "That man is determined to take something from my family, and you don't have the sense to tell me you've seen him a few miles from here. If I'd known I might have been able to find him."

  "Exactly my point. I'm not having you involved any more than necessary. That's why I thought it might be best if I went back to New York. They know I'm here now, and I'm not having you caught in the middle."

  "You're not having?" She would have shoved him again, but he caught both her hands.

  "That's right. You're going to stay out of it."

  "Don't tell me–"

  "I am telling you," he interrupted,'pleased when she gaped at him. "What's more, you're not going to go wandering off at night until he's in custody. After I thought it over, I decided it was best if I stayed close and watched out for you. I'm going to take care of you whether you like it or not."

  "I don't like it, and I don't need to be taken care of"

  "Nonetheless." And he considered the argument closed.

  It was her turn to stutter. "Why, you arrogant, self–important–"

  "That's enough," he said in his best professor's voice and had her blinking. "There's no use arguing when the most intelligent decision's been made. Now, I think it's best if I take you to work every day.

  Whenever you make other plans, you'll let me know."

  Her anger turned to simple shock. "I will not"

  "Yes," he said mildly, "you will." He moved her hands behind her back to bring her closer. "About tonight," he began when their bodies brushed. "Clearly, you're laboring under a misconception concerning my motives, and my feelings."

  She arched back, more surprised than annoyed when he didn't release her. "I don't want to talk about it"

  "No, you prefer yelling about it, but that's uncon–structive, and not my style." Both his hands and his voice were very firm. "To be precise, I didn't come here because I had an itch, though I certainly have every intention of making love with you."

  Baffled, she stared at him. "What the devil's gotten into you?"

  "I've suddenly realized that the best way to handle you is the way I handle difficult students. It takes more than patience. It requires a firm hand and a clear–cut outline of intentions and goals."

  "A difficult–" She took a deep breath to hold on to her temper. "Max, I think you'd better go take some aspirin and lie down."

  "As I was saying." He whispered a kiss over her cheek. "It isn't just a matter of sex, despite the fact that that aspect is incredibly satisfying. It's more of a matter of my being completely bewitched by you."

  "Don't," she said weakly when he leaned close to nip at her ear.

  "Maybe I've made the mistake of indicating that it's only the way you look, the way you feel under my hands, the way you taste that attracts me." He drew her bottom lip into his mouth, sucking gently until her eyes unfocused. "But it's more than that. I just don't know how to tell you." Her pulse beat fast and hard against his hands as he walked her backward. "There's never been anyone like you in my life. I intend to keep you there, Lilah."

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm taking you to bed."

  She struggled to clear her head as his lips skimmed down her throat. "No, you're not." She was angry with him about something. But the reason floated just out of reach as his mouth seduced her.

  "I need to show you how I feel about you." Still toying with her lips, he lowered her to the mattress.

  Her hands were free now and slipped under his shirt to run along the warm flesh beneath. She didn't want to think. There were so many feelings to be absorbed, and she drew him closer, eager.

  "I was jealous," he murmured as he slid one lacy strap from her shoulder and replaced it with his mouth. "I don't want another man touching you."

  "No." He was touching her now, long, lingering strokes up and down her trembling body. "Just you."

  He sank into a kiss, spinning it out, wallowing in the flavor, the texture, until he was drunk on it. Then, like an addict, he went back for more.

  This was comfort and care and romance, she thought hazily. To float together like this, with a sweet breeze blowing over heated bodies, soft murmurs muffled against clinging lips. Desire so perfectly balanced with affection. Nothing mattered so much as this–holding on to the hope of love.

  She lifted his shirt over his head and let her hands roam. He was strong. It was more than the subtle ridge of muscles over his back and shoulders. It was the strength inside that aroused her. The integrity, the dedication to do what was right. He would be strong enough to be loyal and honest and gentle with those he loved.

  He shifted her so that she was cocooned by pillows. Kneeling beside her, he began to untie each tiny ribbon down the center of the ivory silk. The contrast of patient fingers and hungry eyes left her breathless. He parted the material, caressing the newly exposed flesh with his lips. It amazed and humbled him that her skin should be as soft as the silk.

  As patiently as he, she undressed him. Though the need to hurry was clawing at both of them, they held back, the understanding spoken.

  She rose, wrapping her arms around his neck until they were torso to torso, thigh to thigh. With the bright light showering around them, they explored each other. A shudder then a sigh, a request and an answer. Questing lips sought out new secrets. Eager hands discovered new pleasures.

  When she locked herself around him, he filled her. Glorying in the sensation, she arched back, taking him deeper, gasping out his name as the first shock waves struck. He could see her, her willowy body bowed, her skin glowing in the light while her bright hair rained down her back. As she shuddered, the stunned pleasure rushed into her face.

  Then his vision grayed, his own body trembled. His hands slid down to grip her hips. She was wrapped tight around him when they shot over the peak together.

  Chapter Nine

  Max was whistling as he poured his coffee. It was the penguin's natty little tune and suited his mood. He had plans. Big ones. A drive along the coast, dinner at some out–of–the–way spot, then a nice long walk on the beach.

  He sipped, scalded his tongue and grinned.

  He was having a romance.

  "Well, it's nice to see someone in such a bright mood so early in the morning." Coco sailed into the kitchen. She'd dyed her hair a raven black the night before, and the result had put her in a cheerful state of mind. "How about some blueberry pancakes?"

  "You look terrific."

  She beamed and reached for a frilly apron. "Why, thank you, dear. A woman needs a change now and again, I always say. Keeps men on their toes." After taking a large mixing bowl from the cupboard, she glanced back at him. "I must say, Max, you're looking rather well yourself this morning. The sea air or... something must agree with you."

  "It's wonderful here. I'll never be able to thank you enough for letting me stay."

  "Nonsense." In her haphazard way she began dumping ingredients into the bowl. It never failed to amaze Max how anyone could cook so carelessly with such exquisite results. "It was meant, you know. I knew it the moment Lilah brought you home. She was always one for bringing things home. Wounded birds, baby rabbits. Even a snake once." The memory of that made her pat her breast. "This was the first time she brought in an unconscious man. But that's Lilah," she continued, gaily mixing as she talked. "Always the unexpected. Quite talented, too. She knows all those Latin terms for weeds and the migratory habits of birds and things. When she's in the mood, she can draw beautifully."

  "I know. I saw the sketches in her room."

  She slanted him a look. "Did you?"

  "I..." He took a quick gulp of coffee., "Yes. Do you want a cup?"

  "No, I'll have my coffee when this is done." Oh, my, my, she thought, things were moving along just beautifully. The cards didn't lie. "Yes, our Lilah's quite a fascinating girl
. Headstrong like the others, but in such a casual, deceptively amiable sort of way. I've always said that the right sort of man would recognize how special she is." Keeping an eye on Max, she rinsed and drained blueberries. "He'd need to be patient, but not malleable. Strong enough to keep her from veering off course too far, and wise enough not to try to change her." Gently folding the berries into the batter she smiled. "But then, if you love someone why would you want to change her?"

  "Aunt Coco, are you pumping poor Max?" Lilah strolled in, yawning.

  "What a thing to say." Coco heated the griddle and clucked her tongue. "Max and I were having a nice conversation. Weren't we, Max?"

  "It certainly was a fascinating one."

  "Really?" Lilah took the cup from him, and since he didn't make the move, leaned over to kiss him good morning. Watching, Coco all but rubbed her hands together. "I'll take that as a compliment, and since I see blueberry pancakes on the horizon, I won't complain."

  Because the kiss had delighted her, Coco hummed as she got out dishes. "You're up early."

  "It's becoming a habit of mine." Sipping Max's coffee, Lilah sent him a lazy smile. "I'll have to break it soon."

  "The rest of the brood will be trooping down any minute." And Coco liked nothing better than to have all of her chicks in one place. "Lilah, why don't you set the table?"

  "I'll definitely have to break it." With a sigh, she handed Max back his coffee. But she kissed Coco's cheek. "I like your hair. Very French."

  With what sounded almost like a giggle, Coco began to spoon up batter. "Use the good china, dear. I feel like celebrating."

  Caufield hung up the phone and went into a small, nasty rage. He pounded the desk with his fists,.tore a few pamphlets to bits and ended by smashing a crystal bud vase against the wail. Because he/d seen the mood before, Hawkins hung back until it passed.

  After three calming breaths, Caufield sat back. The glaze of blank violence faded from his eyes as he steepled his fingers. "We seem to be victims of fate, Hawkins. The car our good professor was driving is registered to Catherine Calhoun St. James."