But it wasn't her sister standing in the doorway.
Juliet stared in wide-eyed astonishment at Caine Saxon.
"Hello, Juliet." His amber eyes caressed her, lingering on the feminine curves gently shadowed by the soft cotton of her gown.
For a moment the urge to return his lazy smile was so strong that she almost did. Almost. Then she remembered his hot date and her blood began to boil. "I'm not Juliet. I'm Miranda," she blurted out impulsively.
He wasn't fooled, not for a moment. "No, you're not. You're not Miranda or Olivia. You're Juliet. My little Juliet," he added softly.
"I am not!" she snapped, and moved to close the door on him.
He blocked it with his body, stepping halfway inside to do so. "You're my enraged little Juliet," he corrected himself.
The sight of him wedged in her doorway, so big and muscular and virile in his black jeans and black polo shirt, only served to increase her ire. He reminded her of a strong, sleek panther with those yellow cat's eyes of his—which were roaming her body possessively. Her abdomen tightened in a devastating explosion of sexual awareness, and she desperately sought to suppress it with the first weapon that sprang to mind—anger.
"You have the nerve to come here after your— your hot date," she said in a low, furious voice, "and expect me to welcome you with open arms? You really do think you're God's gift to women, don't you? You and your boneheaded brother!"
"What hot date? And what has my boneheaded brother done now? Honey, please stop trying to close the door. As you might have noticed, I'm standing in the doorjamb and getting pulverized in the process."
She abruptly turned and stalked into the living room. Caine followed her, talking to her back.
"After we closed the restaurant shortly after midnight tonight I went home, took a shower, changed clothes, and drove over here."
"Your brother said that you had a hot date tonight." She whirled around to glare at him as the infuriating realization dawned. "Me? I'm your hot date?" She got mad all over again.
"I told Grant I had an important date after closing tonight, Juliet." Caine was clearly amused. "He came up with 'hot' all on his own . . . the bone-head," he added, grinning.
Juliet was not about to be so easily appeased. "We didn't have a date tonight, Saxon. You never asked me. You didn't call all day." She couldn't resist the accusation and was immediately sorry that she hadn't. Those plaintive remarks told him entirely too much.
He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. She attempted to break free, but her best efforts were negligible. Caine Saxon was an extraordinarily strong man. "Did you want me to call today?" he asked quietly.
"No!"
He pulled her closer until she was standing in front of him, so close that a sheet of paper couldn't be slipped between them. His nearness was her undoing. He filled her senses and obliterated her defenses.
"Yes," she admitted huskily.
His strong arms encircled her. "I didn't call because I didn't want to give you the chance to turn me down tonight. I knew from the moment I dropped you off here this morning that I was going to be back tonight."
She attempted to remain stiff and unyielding, then gave up and leaned against the hard, warm length of him. "What made you think I would turn you down?" She closed her eyes and laid her head on his chest. A wonderful, honeyed warmth flowed through her.
"After the way I behaved this morning? Honey, I gave you every reason to turn me down." His lips brushed the top of her head. "I acted like an unspeakable jerk. Have you forgiven me?"
She drew back a little to gaze up at him. " 'An unspeakable jerk?" she repeated wonderingly. It had never occurred to her that his behavior this morning had been out of line. She'd immediately accepted full responsibility for their silent parting.
She moistened her lips with her tongue. "Why did you act like an unspeakable jerk?"
"Because I was so damn jealous of that toothy tennis pro that I'm surprised I didn't turn green."
She stared at him incredulously. "You were jealous because the tennis pro at the club took an interest in my backhand?"
"An interest in your backhand?" Caine gave a derisive snort. "The little creep was interested in a lot more than your backhand, sweetheart. I couldn't stand the way he was looking at you and touching you and wanting you. And you didn't even know it, did you, Juliet? You weren't even aware that the guy was trying to make a pass at you. You were perfectly natural and sweet and polite . . . and that makes me an even bigger clod, doesn't it?"
"An unspeakable clod," she agreed with mock solemnity.
Caine laughed. "That's right."
Their eyes met and clung. Juliet was engulfed by a tidal wave of anticipation and longing as she watched Caine's mouth descend slowly to hers.
His lips hovered just above hers. "I spent the day rehearsing my apology to you, Juliet. Do you want to hear it?"
"No," she whispered. "I want you to kiss me."
He smiled. "In a minute. First I want to reassure you that I'm not a jealous maniac who will go into a fit of temper every time you speak to another man."
"That would get rather tiresome," she said softly.
"This morning I was having a little trouble coming to terms with the fact that you can evoke emotions in me that I'd laughed at in other men. Now ..." His tongue traced along the smooth inner warmth of her lower lip.
Her breath caught in her throat. "Now?" she prompted, touching the tip of his tongue with hers.
"Now I've come to terms with it."
His kiss was deep and lazy and delicious, warming her like potent brandy over a flame. She felt her insides melt as a simmering cauldron of heat flared within the very core of her.
The tips of her breasts hardened against his chest, and he spread his legs to draw her closer into the cradle of his thighs. His big hands cupped her bottom, lifting her, fitting her to him, and she clung to him, her body soft and pliant and clamoring with sensual urgency.
"Caine!" She cried his name when he lifted his mouth from hers and strung a series of erotic little kisses along the graceful curve of her neck. She was swamped by a rush of sensuous memories—of the incredibly wonderful feeling of Caine's callus-roughened palms stroking her smooth bare skin; of his deft, intimate caresses that brought her to the heights of physical rapture; of the honey-sweet glow that had followed as she lay relaxed and sated in his arms.
She wanted it again. And more. Tonight she wanted all of him. The throbbing evidence of his arousal burned like a brand through the material of their clothes, and Juliet felt a heady, feminine delight that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She pressed against him provocatively, rubbing her unconfined breasts against him. Even the thin cotton of her nightgown was suddenly too much of a barrier. She wanted her breasts bare, to feel Caine's hands and lips on the swollen aching softness, on the tight nipples . . .
He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa, then sat down with her on his lap. Her arms were around his neck and she gazed at him, letting her desire shine in her eyes.
"Kiss me, Caine," she whispered.
His hands caressed her with long, leisurely strokes. "Let's talk for a while, honey. Tell me about your day."
"Talk? Is that what you do on a hot date?" She teased his jawline with soft kisses, then moved on to his cheeks, his forehead, his ears. "Don't have another attack of nobility, Saxon."
"Sorry, sweetheart, you seem to bring it out in me." He pushed down the elastic neckline of her nightgown and nibbled on her smooth white shoulder. "But if you want to make out on the sofa for a while, I'll indulge you."
She grinned at him. "How generous of you! And how brave!" It was fun to tease him. Exhilarating too. She laughed and hugged him tight. She felt sexy and happy and incredibly close to him.
Caine stared down at her, at her shining blue eyes, her sweet mouth, her softly rounded body curled up in his lap. The impact of her smile, of her touch sent a convulsive shudder rippling through his muscular
frame. The emotions she aroused in him defied description. They were different, more intense yet more solid than anything he'd ever experienced before.
It was much more than sexual attraction—he was so familiar with that phenomenon he could teach a course on it!—though the physical chemistry between them was extremely potent. She might tease him about his "attacks of nobility," but he knew he would do anything for her, sacrifice everything for her, do whatever he could to make her happy.
"Oh, Juliet." His hands tightened possessively on her waist. "What have you done to me?"
"The same thing you've done to me?" she murmured softly, hopefully, as she caressed his cheeks with her fingertips. "Made you feel things, think things, want things that you'd never even dreamed of before?"
"Those are the symptoms, all right. So you've got it too?" He stretched the elastic and eased her nightgown to her waist, exposing her creamy, pink-tipped breasts.
Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped her breasts, filling his hands with them, kneading and stroking and fondling. "I've got it bad and that's not good?" she asked shakily, slightly reworking the old song title.
"It's good," he said hoarsely as his lips closed over the taut bud of her nipple. "It's very good."
With a swift movement he laid her down on the sofa and rolled on top of her. His mouth opened over hers and she eagerly welcomed the hot thrust of his tongue into the moist warmth of her mouth. His leg urgently parted her thighs and her nightgown slid upward to her hips, baring the silky softness of her upper thighs.
"You feel so good beneath me," he murmured. "So soft and sweet and responsive." He kissed her again, and her body arched convulsively as a flash of beat tore through her. "I want you, Juliet. I want you so much. Sweetheart, we're going to be so good together. ..."
The sudden crashing noise seemed to come from another dimension, and both Juliet and Caine were slow to react to it. But another, extended series of slamming and banging noises caused Caine to leap to his feet.
"What in the hell . . . ?" He groped in the darkness and stumbled into the coffee table. He uttered an Irritated curse.
Juliet sat up like a shot and tugged at her nightgown. Her state of dishabille made her extremely grateful for the darkness—which was abruptly ended with a blinding glare of light. Caine had flicked on one of the lamps.
A low moan sounded faintly from the hallway. Juliet and Caine exchanged glances. "Stay here," he ordered. "I'll see what's going on."
He strode out of the living room with Juliet at his heels. "Juliet, I told you to—" The sight of Miranda lying in a heap at the foot of the stairs brought his scolding to an immediate end.
"Randi!" Juliet cried, rushing to kneel beside her sister. "Oh, my God, Caine, she fell down the stairs!"
Miranda sat up slowly and stared around her. "What happened?" she asked groggily.
"You fell, Randi. Did you get hurt? Are you in pain?" Juliet gingerly examined her sister's head and arms for any sign of injury. "There's a bump on the left side of your head."
Miranda groaned. "I remember now. I got up to go to the bathroom and I made a wrong turn. First I bumped into the door to Liwy's room and then I made another wrong turn and fell down the steps."
"Good Lord!" Caine stared at her. "You definitely need some kind of light in your hallway to keep this from happening again."
"A light wouldn't have helped." Miranda shook her head, then winced and touched the bump on her temple. "I didn't have my eyes open."
"She took a sleeping pill tonight," Juliet hastened to explain. "They really knock her out."
As if to confirm her sister's words, Miranda closed her eyes and leaned against Juliet.
"She shouldn't be taking sleeping pills," Caine said disapprovingly. "And if she hit her head, we shouldn't let her go to sleep until we're sure she doesn't have some kind of serious injury." He leaned down and lifted Miranda to her feet. "Help me walk her to the kitchen, Juliet. We'll make her some coffee and give her something to eat. She has to stay awake."
"I don't want any coffee. I'm not hungry. I just want to go to bed," Miranda complained as Caine settled her in a kitchen chair. "Tell him, Julie."
Juliet had already put on the coffee. "I think Caine s right, Randi. Let me fix you a nice sandwich. How about your favorite—a BLT on toast?"
She opened the refrigerator and began to remove the necessary ingredients. Caine hovered over her shoulder and peered inside. "That's one well-stocked refrigerator you've got. You have everything in here."
She glanced at him, amused- "Would you like something to eat, too, Caine?"
"I am hungry." He smiled hopefully. "I haven't eaten since five this afternoon."
"You don't eat on the job? I wouldn't think that a man who owns a restaurant would ever be hungry."
"I try to grab a meal at the restaurant if we're not too busy, but tonight was a madhouse. As for my own cooking, it's pathetic. Roger, our chef, deserves full credit for The Knight Out's good culinary reputation."
"What would you like? A sandwich? An omelet? Pancakes? All of the above?"
"A stack of buttermilk pancakes sounds good. You even have the buttermilk. I'm impressed, Juliet."
She flashed a saucy grin. "Mother always taught us that the way to a man's heart is—"
"—through his stomach." Caine and Juliet chorused the rest of the old cliche in unison, then laughed together.
The sound of muffled weeping drew their attention to Miranda. She was leaning her elbows on the kitchen table, her face in her hands.
"Randi, what's wrong?" cried Juliet in alarm.
"You two remind me of how it was when I used to c-cook for Grant," Miranda sobbed. "Something I'll never do again!"
"Oh, Randi!" Juliet put her arm around her sister's shoulders and sighed. "Randi had a terrible night tonight," she added, looking up at Caine. "We all did. Your brother showed up at the Riving-tons' party with a sexy little blonde who couldn't keep her hands off him." Her voice hardened. "And then he proceeded to malign our cooking! And tell a roomful of potential customers that we overcharged!"
"Juliet," Caine said quietly, "I agree Grant shouldn't have knocked your business, but keep in mind that he's been badly hurt too."
"He's right," Miranda whispered. "I did hurt Grant badly, that night at the Apple Country Inn." She gazed "tearfully at Juliet. "I—I said some terrible things to him. I was furious with him for not making up with me the night that Sophia allegedly apologized. Instead, he scolded me and went out with another woman! I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him hurt as badly as I was hurting."
Caine frowned. "You succeeded, Miranda. He's hurting, all right. Terribly."
"Mmm, that explains the little blonde and the attacks on our business tonight," Juliet said thoughtfully. "Hell hath no fury like a macho man scorned."
"Behave, Juliet," Caine warned.
"He'll never forgive me, Julie!" Miranda wailed. "I struck him where he's most vulnerable. I'm ashamed of the things I said to him. Oh, what am I going to do?"
Frowning thoughtfully, Juliet began to mix the batter for Caine's pancakes. Suddenly she whirled around to face her sister. "Randi, I have a terrific idea. Tell Grant that it was me, or Liwy, at the Apple Country Inn that night. Tell him that one of us said whatever terrible things you said."
"Do you think it would work?" Miranda looked doubtful. "Grant knows who I am. He hasn't mixed me up with you or Liwy since our first few dates."
Caine had known her from her sisters before they'd ever had a date. The thought leaped to Juliet's mind and warmed her, but she forced herself to concentrate on Miranda's dilemma. "You can convince Grant that he actually did mix us up because he hasn't seen you alone for such a long time. I think it'll work, Randi. I think he'll want to believe that you didn't insult him."
Miranda brightened a bit. "-Maybe it will work. If Caine doesn't tell Grant," she added on a pleading note.
"Oh, don't worry about Caine," Juliet said confidently. "You won't say a wo
rd, will you, Caine?"
He gave both sisters a reproving stare. "I've made the way I feel about these convenient switches in identity quite clear, Juliet. And now you're asking me to deceive my own brother?"
"Isn't there a song entitled 'The End Justifies the Means'?" Juliet asked. "Originally recorded by the late, great Prince Machiavelli?"
"Don't think you can charm me into your little scheme by being cute, Juliet," Caine growled.
"If cute doesn't do it, I'll try sexy." She grinned mischievously. She put her arms around Caine s waist and moved sinuously against him, standing on her tiptoes to nibble on his neck. "Is it working?" she asked hopefully a few moments later. Are you charmed?"
He was fighting a losing battle, Caine acknowledged as the corners of his mouth curved into a reluctant smile. He couldn't resist her and she had to know it. His arms closed around her and he held her tightly against him for a moment before setting her firmly away from him. "All right, I won't say anything to Grant," he said gruffly. Having Miranda witness his easy capitulation was a trifle embarrassing. But Juliet wasn't at all shy about exclaiming her thanks and kissing him in front of a witness.
After serving her sister a sandwich Juliet made him a stack of the most delicious pancakes he'd ever tasted, then sat on his lap while he ate them. Miranda went to bed shortly afterward, seemingly without any aftereffects from her fall, and Caine and Juliet spent another hour and a half in the kitchen, drinking coffee and talking.
They traded opinions, likes, and dislikes on every conceivable subject. Their conversation proved to be as exciting and exhilarating as their lovemaking. They were still going strong when a sleepy-eyed Olivia arrived shortly before four a.m. She mumbled a quick hello and went directly upstairs to bed.
"I guess it's time for me to leave," Caine said reluctantly. "I had no idea it was so late."
"Take me home with you, Caine," Juliet said impulsively, her eyes soft with love. For she was in love with him. There was no other word to describe the stunning emotions he evoked within her. It had taken her twenty-six years to fall in love, but Caine Saxon was well worth waiting for.
She was his and she wanted to belong to him completely—physically, emotionally, every way a woman could belong to a man. She no longer feared losing her identity and autonomy in a loving merger. Caine wouldn't allow that to happen. He was too strong a man to need a woman to lose herself in his shadow. She would be one with Caine, yet would alwavs retain her own strength, her own self.
Trouble In Triplicate Page 11
