by Sandra Brown
"Where are you going?"
"Back to work."
"Stay with me."
"I don't want to."
"Scared?"
"What?"
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"You heard me."
"Of course I'm not scared."
"You used to be. Are you still that frightened little bunny, Laura?"
"I don't know what you're talking about?"
"Is it me you're afraid of? Or is it the male sex in general?"
"I'm not afraid of anybody. Certainly not you."
"Good. Then you'll stay here with me while I finish my lunch," he said blandly,
releasing her hand and stretching out on his side. He propped his elbow on the
floor and supported his cheek in his palm. He continued to munch on the snacks,
but kept his eyes trained on her. They, as much as his steely grip only moments
earlier, effectively kept Laura anchored there beside him. She wouldn't lose face
by moving away from him now.
On the surface she registered nothing but cool composure and a trace of hauteur,
but inwardly she was seething. "Why do you think I'm afraid of you?" she asked,
unable to hold back the question.
"It's either that or you're a snob."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you always ran when you saw me coming."
"You were bad news. As far as I'm concerned you still are."
He laughed out loud at that. "Damn, I like you! I always did."
"You didn't even know me."
"No, but what I knew, I liked. Shy, prissy little Laura Nolan has a mean stinger
when she's pushed too far." He laid his free hand on her arm and stroked it with
his fingertips. "I always wondered just how far I could go with you."
"You found out that night you brought me home on your motorcycle. When I
wouldn't let you kiss me, you said I was bloodless."
His eyes focused on her mouth. "That was then. This is now." He slid his hand
beneath her sleeve and stroked the bend of her elbow. "How hot do you get before
you burn?"
She yanked her arm away from him and scooted across the floor to get out of
touching distance. She hadn't known that the inside of her elbow was so
supersensitive. "Speaking of burning," she said inanely, "I saw you race one time
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on television. Your car spun out of control and caught on fire."
He grinned at her adroit change of subject, but let it pass without comment.
"You'll have to be more specific. That happened several times. "
"Were you ever hurt?"
"Not extensive injuries."
"Were you ever afraid?"
"Nope." He pushed another cracker into his mouth.
"Never?"
He shook his head. "Anxious, maybe. Excited. Never afraid. There's not much to
fear when you don't care if you live or die."
Laura stared at him speechlessly, gauging his sincerity. The eyes that stared back
at her were compelling and truthful. He wasn't jesting. He meant it. "And you
didn't?"
"Not for several years."
"But now you do?"
"Yes, now I do."
He didn't seem inclined to elaborate, so she didn't press him to. "You were a very
good race-car driver, from what I understand. You must have enjoyed it."
"I loved it."
"What's it like?"
"Having sex."
He grinned at her startled expression. Rolling onto his back, he stacked his hands
beneath his head and gazed up at the ceiling as he talked.
"All that tremendous power continues to build until it trembles around you. The
heat. The thrust of the engine. The driving pistons. The friction. Then there comes
that moment, an instant, when you have to give it all you've got. You don't care
what's on the other side of the finish line; at that point you'll risk anything to get
there. You open full throttle and let it explode. You've got no choice. Just like
sexual climax."
When he stopped talking, the silence was palpable. Slowly he turned his head and
looked up at Laura. Her eyes were glassy. She was held in thrall by his entrancing
words and the raspy whisper in which he had spoken them.
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Moving slowly, he laid his hand on her thigh, squeezing lightly. "Understand what
I mean?"
"I think so."
He rolled to a sitting position. He was close. The hooded green eyes invited her to
jump inside them and drown.
She was tempted. The appeal James Paden had exuded as a youth was nothing
compared to the magnetism he now possessed. As a high-school girl, Laura had
felt the tug of his allure, but hadn't recognized it for what it was. Now she did. It
was lust. The aura of danger that surrounded him, his sullen expression, promised
undiscovered delights if a woman were only brave enough to risk the
consequences of finding them.
The penalties for such recklessness were high. Laura knew countless girls who had
tried for years to live down the bad reputations James Paden had helped them
earn. Was she insane? Why was she sitting here talking about sexual climax with
such a man?
Forcibly shaking off her trance, she stood up and said, "I guess we should get back
to work."
He stood up with her and linked his hard fingers around each of her wrists. "Sure
about that? You know what they say about all work and no play." His lips swept
her cheek fleetingly. "I'd love to play with you."
Laura pulled her hands free. "I thought you were here to work. If you don't want
to, then leave. I'm busy." She turned away, but not before she saw the treacherous
grin spread across his moody face. Far from being daunted, he was merely
amused.
* * *
The project took them three days, three days spent almost entirely and exclusively
in each other's company. He arrived with sacks of groceries the morning after
their picnic, explaining over Laura's vehement protests that if he was going to take
meals with her, he was going to provide some of the food.
Laura didn't like sharing anything with him – time, food, space. But she had no
say in the matter, no more so than she did about the way he touched her, which
was often.
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He contrived reasons to have his hands on her frequently. No one, especially
someone as agile as he, was that clumsy. Often he would stumble like a bad comic.
To break his fall, he would clasp her tightly against him.
And she knew his manners didn't constrain him to assist her down the stairs or
through a door or around a piece of furniture, but he was always doing chivalrous
things like that, too. What worried her most was that she came to enjoy his
manhandling.
During those three days, she grew to like him more than she'd imagined she ever
could. H
e was an entertaining conversationalist and an even better listener. He
encouraged her to tell him the stories about 22 Indigo Place that she had heard at
her grandmother's knee. Surprisingly, he was genuinely interested in the history
of the house. She discovered that he had a keen, if somewhat caustic, sense of
humor, and that he wasn't without sensitivity.
While they were taking inventory of the master suite, they came across numerous
silver frames preserving pictures of several generations of Nolans. Laura
methodically listed the frames in her tablet.
Moments later, James took the tablet from her and marked through this latest
addition.
"What are you doing?" she asked when he wordlessly handed the tablet back to
her.
"These pictures mean a lot to you, don't they?"
"I can take the pictures out."
"But the frames were made for them. Keep the frames. A present from me," he
added quickly when he saw she was about to object.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He picked up one of the frames and studied the photograph. "Who's this?"
"My paternal grandparents. Franklin and Maydell Nolan." She felt very tender
toward him as he gazed down at the old photograph. "James, you told me the
other day that you didn't even know your grandfather's name. Is that true?"
He set that frame down and picked up another. "Not on my old man's side, no. He
was a bastard … in more ways than the most literal. Paden was my grandmother's
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maiden name. She died when he was just a kid, during the depression sometime.
That's all I know about it."
She couldn't come up with an expression of sympathy that didn't sound banal, so
she chose to remain silent. He exchanged frames again and smiled down at the
photograph. "Is this you?"
She leaned over his arm to study the picture. "That's me. Skinny and toothless. My
grandpa had just hung a swing in the big live oak for me. "
"The one that's still there?"
"Yes. Mother went running back to the house to get the camera. I'm glad she had
the foresight to take our picture together. I think that's the only… What's the
matter?" she asked suddenly when she chanced to glance up at him. He was
studying her intently.
"I was just thinking what a cute little kid you were."
"I look terrible! Look at those pigtails." She laughed, pointing down at the picture.
"My knees were so knobby and continually scabbed over."
He studied the picture again and laughed. "Come to think of it, you were kinda
scrawny. Guess I just favor little girls no matter how they look."
"And big girls."
Her breasts were shelved on his hard forearm. He looked down at them before
meeting her gaze. "Yeah. I like big girls too."
Laura backed away from him, her face suffused with color. "When we finish in
here, we'll be through."
They worked for another hour before the tedious task was finally completed.
Laura led him downstairs. "If it's all right with you," he said, "I'm going to take
another look at the pier before I leave for the day. I want to see how much more
lumber I'm going to need."
"All right. While you're doing that, I'll run these figures through the adding
machine." She indicated the tablet, with its lengthy list. "I want to get this settled
as soon as possible."
"Give me a bill this afternoon and I'll bring you a check in the morning."
Laura went into her father's study and ran the price list through the adding
machine several times, until the final sum was verified. It was impressive, and the
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money would go a long way to pay off her debts. She hoped there'd even be some
left over – if James didn't haggle her down too much.
When he returned from his inspection of the pier, she nervously presented him
with the total.
She had stepped out onto the porch to meet him when she saw him coming across
the yard. Now she braced herself for a wrangling match. It never came. He hardly
glanced down at the tape she had so painstakingly checked and double-checked.
"Fine. Whatever." He folded the tape and stuck it in the breast pocket of his shirt.
She felt as if she'd been denied her day in court. "Fine? Whatever? Is that all you
have to say?"
"Yes."
She pointed toward his pocket. "But you didn't even check the list!"
"I trust you. I was just kidding when I said I didn't." He chucked her under the
chin. "I'll buy everything for the full amount, but I want you to feel free to take
anything you want as a personal memento."
"Wait a minute," she cried when he turned his back and started down the wide
front steps. "If you were going to buy everything, why did we just spend days
itemizing every single object under the roof? Why did you have me make that
damn price list in the first place?"
He propped his shoulder against a column and folded his arms across his chest.
"You sure you really want to know?"
No, she was positively sure she didn't. Not while he was wearing that lecherous
smile and his eyes were sultry with suggestion. "It was an utter waste of time," she
muttered crossly.
"I take exception to that, Miss Laura. Now I know where everything is, down to
the Christmas decorations. I know all the stories behind the house, where
ordinarily I wouldn't. And" – he stressed the word – "I've had a good time."
"Well, I haven't. I could have been doing—"
"What?"
She frantically searched her mind for something she could have been doing.
"Well, something. As a seller I think I've gone farther than the extra mile, so if
you'll excuse me now, I'll say good-bye." She stormed toward the front door.
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"I don't guess this is a good time to be asking favors, is it?"
She came to a dead stop. Assuming her most autocratic expression, she stiffly
pivoted to face him again. "What?" she asked coldly.
"Would you mind if I brought my girl out to see the house?"
Several seconds ticked by while Laura mutely stared at him. If the floorboards of
the porch had just been jerked out from under her, she didn't think she would
have fallen any farther. She hit bottom hard. It was jarring. "Your girl?"
He pushed himself away from the column and smiled. "Yeah, my girl. I call her
Tricks." He winked. "She's been dying to see the place ever since I bought it. And I
think she ought to give it a look-see before we move in."
Over my dead body, Laura wanted to say.
"Would tomorrow be convenient?"
She bit her tongue to keep from telling him to go straight to hell and to take Tricks
with him. But he was the owner of the house. And he hadn't quibbled over the
price of the furnishings. He had the right to bring anybody he wanted to to see the
house. What coul
d she say to stop him? His appalling bad taste wasn't reason
enough for her to refuse him permission. She doubted it would do any good to say
no anyway.
But the insensitivity of his request had a profound effect on her. The affront
affected her physically, viscerally. More than making her angry, she couldn't move
or speak. She was afraid she was going to be ill all over the front porch.
That jealousy was the source of her sudden attack of nausea was unthinkable, yet
the emotion that churned through her felt very much like jealousy.
"What time?" She forced her mouth to form the words.
"Around midmorning. She likes to sleep late."
Laura nodded. "That will be fine."
Chapter 5
Fool, fool! Laura cursed herself the next morning as she dressed. Why had she
been so obliging? Why, when he had asked his "favor," hadn't she told him what a
lowlife she thought he was? During her sleepless night, she had called him every
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disparaging name she could think of. Why hadn't she called him those names to
his face? She wished she had demonstrated the full extent of her contempt when
he had provided her with such a prize opportunity.
Tricks! "I'll just bet," Laura muttered as she pulled a cotton knit sleeveless sweater
over her head.
She envisioned Tricks as the stereotypical indulged mistress of a wealthy man,
complete with a marabou-trimmed negligee and a mountain of lace-edged pillows
on which she reclined. She slept until noon, only arising in time to watch soap
operas through eyes puffy from dissipation while she poked chocolates into her
petulant mouth.
Laura brushed her hair with a vengeance, thinking that Tricks would no doubt be
a brassy bottled blond. She applied the lightest, most subtle floral perfume she
had, thinking that in a short while 22 Indigo Place would probably be reeking of
musk.
The new lady of the manor was named Tricks!
It didn't bear thinking about. Her ancestors must be spinning in their graves. Had
her father known the repercussions of his carelessness, he surely would have been
a more conscientious money manager. Would anyone ever have imagined that the
Nolan family estate would fall so low as this?
What galled Laura most was that she had actually started liking James Paden.
