He took a cotton ball and soaked it with hydrogen peroxide. “Now, sit back and let Dr. Gideon take care of your neck.”
She nodded and leaned her head back, exposing the bloody scratch marks to his view. His stomach clenched with anger as he saw her soft skin so viciously marred. He stood up, bending over her, and gently moved the material of her blouse aside. She winced as he applied the medicated cotton ball to the scratches. “What in the hell was he trying to do to you?” he muttered as he cleaned off the blood.
“He went for my purse first, then started clawing at my neck. I thought…I thought he was trying to kill me,” she answered softly.
Again anger swept through him. His insides twisted and his hand shook slightly as he worked silently. If only he’d arrived to pick her up a few minutes earlier. If only he’d been able to get the license plate number of the car.
As he cleaned out the scratches, he was aware of the sweet, scented perfume that emanated from her. He tried to focus only on the wounds, but found himself distracted by the tiny pulse that throbbed in the hollow of her throat. He was far too conscious of her body heat warming him as he leaned over her, the way the gold of her necklace seemed dull in comparison to the lustrous hue of her skin.
The scratches were clean, but still he lingered, rubbing a fresh cotton ball gently over a greater expanse of her neck, half mesmerized by the creaminess of her skin, the satiny texture that seemed to beg to be touched.
She closed her eyes, as if finding pleasure in his physical contact, and a flame of desire swept through him, desire so intense it shocked him. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to taste her lips. He knew instinctively they would be as sweet as the scent of her perfume. He wanted to press his lips against the pulse at the base of her throat, run his hands over the curve of her breasts.
He threw the cotton ball onto the table as if it were on fire. “That should do it,” he said gruffly as he stepped away from her.
She opened her eyes. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“No problem,” he replied. “I wouldn’t want you to get tetanus and die before I collect my fee from you.”
She flushed. “We certainly wouldn’t want that.”
He flashed her a hard smile. “Man does not live on bread alone. Speaking of bread, how about dinner?” He got up and reached into a drawer and pulled out half a dozen carry-out menus. “Let’s see, we’ve got pizza, Chinese, a chicken place. What’s your pleasure?”
“Do you have all your meals delivered?” Colleen asked.
“Of course not. I usually go out for breakfast and lunch. I rarely cook.”
“Don’t you get tired of eating out? Why don’t I just whip something up for dinner?” She stood up and went to the refrigerator. Peering inside, she saw he had eggs, milk, a chunk of Cheddar cheese. “I could make omelets,” she offered. She closed the door, realizing she was being presumptuous. “Unless you don’t want me messing up your kitchen.”
“No, please help yourself. I just assumed you didn’t cook.”
“I’m not a gourmet, but I enjoy puttering around in the kitchen.” In truth, Colleen needed the physical activity to keep her thoughts of Gideon at bay.
As she busied herself finding a skillet and getting the makings for the omelets out of the refrigerator, she was intensely aware of Gideon’s gaze on her.
He sat in a chair at the table, his eyes following her every movement as his fingers drummed absently on the top of the table. “I think I’ll get some fresh air,” he finally said.
Colleen breathed a sigh of relief as he got up and disappeared out the door. She hadn’t realized how tense she had been until he left and seemed to take much of the tension with him.
And she knew where much of that tension had come from. It had begun the moment he touched her. When he’d leaned over her, enveloping her in his masculine scent, a knot of yearning had formed in the pit of her stomach.
As she whipped the eggs in a bowl and melted butter in the skillet, she remembered the feel of him touching her throat. His hands had been hot, almost fevered. There had been a moment when his ministrations had changed from the detached care of a stranger to the languid caress of a lover. Her pulse quickened at the memory as she contemplated what kind of a lover Gideon would be.
Passionate. Intense. She had a feeling he would be both. He would be single-minded and demand the same sort of intensity from his partner.
Oh, how she longed to feel passion again. Her work had been the only thing in her life to inspire that particular emotion in the last couple of years.
She knew already that Gideon was a man capable of deep emotions, knew it from the way he had told her he’d loved his wife more than life itself. She wondered what had happened between Gideon and his wife. Where had the love gone? Had it simply died, or had it never really existed except in his own mind, as it had happened with her and Jesse?
Colleen realized the love she’d thought she’d seen in Jesse’s eyes had been nothing more than hidden calculation and greed. She’d fooled herself, wanting to believe his love was real, ignoring all the little signals that should have told her differently.
She frowned as she poured the egg mixture into the awaiting skillet. She couldn’t forget why she was here. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything for Gideon Graves expect gratitude that he was allowing her to stay here until they decided she was out of danger. He wanted nothing more from her than his fee.
Getting involved with Gideon on any other basis than strictly business would be pure foolish. Gideon, like Jesse, was interested in the monetary benefit of a relationship with her. Although, unlike Jesse, Gideon was honest and open in the fact that he wanted her money in return for his services in seeking Sam. She was far too smart to make the same mistake twice in a lifetime. She would never again allow a man to fool her into believing he loved her when all he really wanted was the pleasure of her money.
She was here because Gideon thought she would be safe here from whatever madness was going on in her life. He would protect her from anyone trying to harm her. Still, as she remembered the heat of his touch, the fire of desire he’d ignited inside her, she wondered who was going to protect her from herself…
Chapter Six
Gideon stood on the deck, watching as the evening shadows usurped the sunlight. It was odd, to stand on the deck and listen to the sounds of somebody else bustling in his kitchen. Since the time he had moved in three years ago, no woman had been in the houseboat until now. Until Colleen.
The rattle of dishes drifted out the window, along with the sound of her humming as she worked. He could smell the scent of eggs cooking and coffee perking. He leaned against the railing and thought about the woman inside his residence.
The circumstances surrounding the bugging of her duplex and the attack on her that afternoon were just a few of the things that confused him about her.
Far more confusing than the circumstances that had brought her here in the first place was his response to her and her presence in his house, in his life.
For the first time in what seemed like forever he was thinking of things other than work, other than the mere routine of survival. Instead, as he watched the sun slowly dip down beyond the horizon, he found himself thinking of things he hadn’t thought of in years.
Things like the pleasure of feminine companionship. Sharing coffee in the quiet beauty of dawn, small talk that meant nothing and yet connected the souls. Quiet moments when conversation wasn’t necessary to communicate, when words were transmitted through a glance, a touch. And finally he thought about the heady rush of sexual tension.
He swiped a hand through his hair, grateful for the cool breeze that he hoped would banish the heat still rolling around inside him. He shouldn’t have touched her. That had been his initial mistake. He should have let her clean her neck by herself. He should have thrown her the cotton balls and the peroxide and left her to her own devices.
He frowned as he thought again of the circumstances that had forc
ed her here. There was no doubt in his mind that the tossing of her home and the mugging were related. Somebody wanted something from her, but what? He believed her when she maintained she didn’t know. He’d seen the confusion muddy her eyes, the fear of the unknown.
Besides, there was no way on earth she would be here with him if those events hadn’t frightened her immensely.
She was out of his league. She was a Baker, cut of the same social ilks as Anne. It didn’t matter that her skin was soft and tempting. It wasn’t important that the scent of her stirred his senses. He wasn’t looking to get involved with any woman. He preferred his aloneness, where he wasn’t vulnerable.
“Gideon?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice and turned to look at her. “Yes?”
“The omelets are ready.”
He nodded and followed her inside, surprised to see she had set the table, complete with colorful place mats he’d forgotten he owned. For some reason the sight of the gaily striped place mats irritated him, adding a touch of feminine domesticity where there had been none. “I’m surprised you can cook,” he said as he sat down at the table. “I would have assumed as a member of the Baker dynasty you had somebody to do those sort of mundane things for you.”
She sliced the omelet in two and slid half onto his plate and the other half onto her own. “When I was growing up we had a cook, but I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to live the life-style of my youth.” She grabbed a saucer containing a tower of toast slices, added it to the table, then sat down in the chair across from him. “Besides, unlike you, I don’t like to eat out or have food delivered very often.”
He gazed at her in disbelief. “I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like to eat out as frequently as possible.”
“You’ve met one now,” she answered, then smiled at his continued skepticism. “Believe what you want, Gideon. I have a strong self-identity. I don’t need your beliefs about me to confirm who I am.”
Again an unwanted admiration swept through him as he heard the confidence that rang in her voice. “I suppose it’s easier to find yourself when you have plenty of money to decide who you are,” he observed.
She paused, a piece of toast in her hand, her gaze thoughtful as she looked at him. “Do you only hate women who have money, or do you hate women in general?”
He looked at her in surprise. “I certainly don’t hate women.” He frowned, wondering how to explain to her his disdain, his mistrust of the very wealthy. “It’s just been my experience that people who have a lot of money rarely have any ethics to go with it.”
“My father was a very ethical man. I didn’t always agree with his choice of priorities, but I never doubted that he had great character and integrity.” She paused a moment, cutting her omelet into dainty little bites. “What about your parents…what were they like?”
“My father left when I was ten, and my mother worked herself to death as a waitress to provide the essentials.” He was pleased that his words held no emotion, simply a statement of bald facts.
“Did you ever see your father again?” she asked, her voice gentle.
“As a matter of fact, I did. He showed up at my graduation ceremony from the police academy.” Immediately he could remember the shock, the utter surprise that had filled him when he’d seen the man who was his father sitting in the audience. Gideon leaned back in his chair, reflecting for a moment. “When the ceremony was over he came up to me, hugged me and told me how proud he was. As a child, I’d dreamed of hearing words like that from him, but when he finally spoke them they didn’t mean anything. I realized my father was nothing more than a stranger to me.”
Colleen reached up and touched the charm that hung on the gold chain around her neck, her face radiating sadness. “I know how difficult that is. I felt the same way when my father died. I was upset but suddenly realized he’d never been a very big part of my life. I always assumed we’d have time in the future … to become closer, develop a bond. It was the hardest moment of my life, when I had to face the knowledge that there were no more chances for us to be close.”
Gideon felt a strange connection with her, the knowledge that despite their diverse backgrounds they had both lacked the gift of a strong paternal presence in their lives. The fact that they had anything at all in common only increased his general discomfort. He grabbed a piece of toast and tore it in half. “We’d better eat before it gets cold,” he said abruptly, effectively stifling any further conversation she might want to make.
When they finished eating, they cleared the table. “If we’d ordered out we could have just thrown the paper plates away,” he said as she filled the sink with soapy water and he carried the last dish from the table to the countertop.
“This will only take a minute,” she replied smoothly, then smiled as she handed him a dish towel. “Besides, haven’t you heard? Washing and drying dishes builds character.”
“I didn’t realize I was lacking in that particular department,” he protested.
She grinned. “The jury is still out on that subject.” She handed him a clean, dripping plate.
“So what made you become a social worker?” Gideon asked as he dried the plate, then placed it in the appropriate cabinet.
She shrugged. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to do something to help people. Social work seemed like the logical choice. I decided to work with family services because I wanted to be an advocate for children’s rights.”
“Lofty ambitions,” he observed, taking the glass she held out.
“Perhaps, but I felt it was important to give back some of the good life has given me. And that reminds me, as soon as we finish here, I really need to call Margie and make sure she can cover for me for a few days. She’ll probably agree, but she won’t be happy about it.”
Gideon nodded absently, again confused by her. He wanted to believe she was frivolous, a wealthy young woman playing the role of social worker for fun. But when she spoke of her work, it was obvious it was important to her, obvious she was committed. Anne had never been committed to anything except herself and shopping.
They finished the last of the dishes in a companionable silence. “While you’re calling Margie, I’m going to get the bedroom ready for you. I insist,” he said as she started to protest.
As she picked up the phone, he went into the bedroom and started stripping the sheets off the bed. He tried not to think of his task, preparing her bed for the night, afraid he’d reawaken the flare of desire that had swept through him as he’d cleaned her wounds. It was far too easy to imagine her in the bed, her hair a rich, dark cloud against the pale sheets, her smoky blue eyes hazy with sleep…or desire. He shook his head to banish the image.
It was probably a mistake having her here under his roof. She was definitely a physical temptation. And she was also in some sort of danger. It was a compelling combination. He grinned, thinking of what Eddy would say. “A gorgeous dame with sexy legs, a hardboiled P.I. with a chip on his shoulder. Trouble with a capital T.”
Pulling out a clean set of sheets from one of the drawers, he frowned, wondering why Eddy hadn’t been around all day. It was unusual for the kid not to make a daily appearance. He hoped everything was all right. Gideon had enough trouble on his hands trying to figure out how to help the shapely package of dynamite sitting in his kitchen.
“Can I help?” Colleen asked, standing hesitantly in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Sure, you can get on the other side of the bed.” As she moved into position, he threw half the fitted sheet to her. They worked together, putting on the bottom sheet then adding the flat one.
“You know this really isn’t necessary,” she said as they finished up. “I could have slept on the sofa.”
“I’m more comfortable with you being in here. This way you’ll have your privacy for all the rituals women do before they go to bed and when they get up in the morning.”
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Ri
tuals?”
To his horror, Gideon felt a blush warm his face. “You know, all the powdering and lotioning and skincream stuff that women do.”
She laughed, the sound filled with the music of mirth. Despite his embarrassment Gideon felt a reluctant grin stretching his lips. His grin seemed to feed her laughter, and she collapsed onto the bed, gales of merriment causing tears to sparkle in her eyes.
Someplace in the back of his mind, he knew her laughter was a product of her tension, a natural release of the fear and anxiety that had been inside her since the moment they had walked into her ransacked duplex. He could hear the slight edge of hysteria in her laugh, knew she had momentarily lost control.
He didn’t care what caused it, didn’t even care if she was in some way laughing at him. He simply wanted to enjoy her laughter. With a pang he realized his life had been void of that particular expression for too long.
She sat up, swiping her tears with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry…I’m not even sure why I’m laughing,” she finally managed to gasp. “It’s just that I’m lucky if I get the time to use soap and water on my face. I don’t even own a jar of skin cream.” She giggled helplessly and fell back on the bed.
He couldn’t help but notice how dark and rich her hair appeared next to the paleness of the sheets. He was aware of her perfume, that damned pleasant scent that made him think of fields of flowers and making love.
Although he tried, he couldn’t ignore the heat that began as an ember in the pit of his stomach and grew into an inferno as it spread to his extremities.
Barely aware of his actions, he held out a hand to help her up. As she slipped her hand in his, he pulled her off the bed. Her laughter died the moment her feet touched the floor. She stood so close to him he felt the heat emanating from her, felt the warmth of her breath on his throat.
The lips that had moments before been laughing, now tempted him beyond reason. He wanted to taste their sweetness, wanted them to open to him in eagerness. Her eyes widened and she gasped softly, as if she saw his desire, felt it herself. The blue of her eyes darkened, and she raised her chin, a subtle offering of her lips to him.
An Impromptu Proposal Page 7
