"Goodnight. I hope you'll be comfortable in here," she answered, managing to sound far more composed than she felt. Her gait deliberately unhurried, she went out, pulling his door shut behind her. Then she rushed across the hall to her own room, where she was finally able to take several deep, self-controlling breaths. Catching sight of her reflection in her vanity mirror, she wrinkled her nose impatiently. So, all right, Nick Brannon was a fascinating man. She was impressed by his dedication to a noble career and she was unquestionably drawn to him by the sheer force of his magnetic personality. Despite all that, she shouldn't be in such a dither about a kiss, even if it had been the most pleasurable she'd ever experienced. After all, during the time Nick had held her close to him his hands hadn't once wandered indiscriminately, but now it disturbed her to think of how she might have responded if they had. She surely would have resisted, she tried to tell herself as she went to take a bath.
Thirty minutes later, soothed to sleepiness by a leisurely soak in warm salt-scented water, Laine put on the ivory silk chemise Regina had sent her for Christmas. Its hem brushed the tops of her thighs, and though it was an unnecessarily sexy garment for one who slept alone, she couldn't resist wearing it. The fabric was so luxuriously soft against her skin. Stifling a yawn, Laine went to the vanity to quickly brush her hair, then walked over to her bed. Before she could draw back the sheet, however, the sudden shrill ringing of the phone in the hallway downstairs halted her progress. Sure it must be a wrong number at this late hour, she rushed from her room to answer before the ringing awakened her father.
Only Nick's quick reflexes saved them from a collision. His hands quickly spanned her waist, halting her mid-stride.
"It may be for me," he said very quietly. "I left this number with my service."
Before Laine could answer, the ringing ceased and her father's voice drifted up from the hallway. Nick murmured an apology for the late-night call but she didn't have the presence of mind to acknowledge it, because as he spoke his darkening gaze moved slowly over her. She realized then that she was clad in practically nothing and he was shirtless. Automatically, her hands had come up to press against his chest when he'd stopped her from running into him and now the heat of his bronze hair-roughened skin seemed to sear her palms. She bit back a gasp as strong fingers began to massage the appealing arch between her waist and gentle outcurving of her hips.
"Damn," he muttered roughly, eyes glinting. "I doubt I'll get much sleep tonight, knowing you're just across the hall wearing no more than that."
Thornton Winthrop interrupted the intimacy of the moment. "A call for you, Nick," he said as he came up the stairs. He stopped short and stared when he saw his daughter nearly in the arms of the man in the hallway.
When Nick released her, Laine turned and stepped back into her room, without ever having said a word to either man. Leaning back against her door, she pressed her hands against exceedingly hot cheeks. Though her heartbeat was getting back to normal, she no longer felt the least bit sleepy. Nick Brannon was very adept at disturbing her equilibrium, and Laine smiled to herself. She was beginning to look forward to going to the party with him tomorrow evening.
Humming softly, she started across the room toward her bed but stopped and spun around when someone tapped on her door then began opening it. It was only her father who entered, however, so she was able to breathe again.
Tightening the belt of his bathrobe, Thornton eyed her speculatively, either not noticing the faint revealing blush that tinged her cheeks or ignoring it. He raked his fingers through his silvery hair. "Well, how did it go tonight?" he asked finally. "Did Nick seemed impressed with the campus? Is he going to give us the grant?"
"He says he wants to see more before he makes that decision, Father. As to whether or not he was impressed tonight, I really couldn't tell."
"Well, I can tell he's certainly impressed by you," he said meaningfully. "I'm sure that'll help."
"I wouldn't count on that," Laine replied with an uncharacteristic sharpness.
Thornton irritably shook his head. "You know very little about men, Laine, if you believe that. Women can influence them in everything. Your mother could have persuaded me to do anything. And I have no doubt you can influence Nick Brannon. He's so obviously interested in you. All you have to do is encourage him."
Unease stole over Laine as she wondered just what her father meant. Exactly how far would he want her to go in encouraging Nick? Afraid to ask him, totally uncertain now what his answer might be, she merely shrugged her shoulders. "I still think you're wrong, Father. I won't be able to influence Nick, though I'll certainly be friendly and cordial to him during his stay."
"Cordial isn't good enough," Thornton said bluntly on his way out of her room. "This grant's vital to Latham, so you'd better be as nice to Brannon as you can."
As the door was pulled firmly shut, Laine ran a hand over her hair and sighed dejectedly. Somehow, her father had tainted the magic of the evening. Her anticipation of tomorrow night with Nick had somewhat dimmed. Her father was beginning to make her feel as if she were no more than a pawn in the high-stakes game two men were playing.
By seven-thirty Saturday night, Laine was ready for the faculty party. After once again ordering her to be very nice to Nick, Thornton went ahead, leaving the two of them alone in the house together. In her room Laine procrastinated, rebrushing her hair to delay at least for a few minutes the time when she would have to go downstairs where Nick awaited her. She had hardly seen him all day. While her father had taken him on a more extensive tour of the campus, she had given the house a lick and a promise and then begun the student assistant evaluations. Unfortunately she still had more than half of them to complete. Normally she would have skipped tonight's party to work, but she couldn't do that now. Nick was waiting.
Her mother's white crocheted shawl over her arm, Laine went down. Seeing Nick's suitcase sitting beside the front door, she frowned as she walked into the living room to find him. "Why the suitcase?" she asked as he immediately arose from his chair. "Are you going back to Savannah after the party?"
"No, I'm checking into the motel," he explained, flipping back the sides of his navy blazer to slip his hands into the pockets of gray trousers. "I don't want any more late-night calls disturbing you and your father."
"Oh, but Father must've been awake anyhow," Laine assured him. "Or he wouldn't have answered the phone so fast. I'm sure he didn't mind. In fact, I'm sure he'd insist that you stay here for the rest of your visit."
Though Nick thanked her for the proffered hospitality, he declined. "A motel room is best," he said firmly, while inspecting her white cotton dress with ruffled tier skirt and tiny stand-up lace collar that encircled her long slender neck. Never taking his eyes from her, he came across the room. "You're lovely, Laine," he said very softly, then gave her a disturbingly secretive smile. "Innocent-looking yet provocative too, a very tantalizing combination."
Gasping as he reached out to trace one fingertip along the outer edges of the see-through lace yoke that extended down nearly to the beginning swell of her breasts, she took a jerky step backward, away from him. "We'd better go," she suggested, her voice a breathy whisper. "We wouldn't want to be late."
Still smiling, Nick acquiesced, indicating with a gesture that she should precede him to the door, taking his suitcase with him as they went out. After stowing it in the trunk of his car, he lightly clasped Laine's left hand when they started toward the tavern, rented by the faculty for the evening.
Still slightly uncomfortable about what had happened between them in the hallway last night, Laine said nothing for several moments, but at last she could contain her curiosity no longer. "Well, how'd the tour go today?" she asked eagerly. "Do you think Latham deserves your uncle's grant this year?"
"As I advise juries—make no decisions until all evidence is in," he answered calmly, telling her absolutely nothing in the process. Then he adroitly changed the subject. "How was your day? Ready to post grades Mon
day?"
"I wish," she replied with a rather tired sigh. "I didn't even finish half the evaluations today."
Nick gazed down at her, his expression inscrutable. "You obviously take your work very seriously. Do you demand as much from your assistants as you do from yourself? Any unfavorable evaluations today?"
Laine shook her head. "That's a good thing about being in the education department. The career prospects for teachers are limited these days, so most of our students are quite dedicated. I can usually find some ability in all of them to at least give them an average evaluation."
"Fair-minded Laine," he murmured, only half teasingly. "And do you always look for the best in people?"
"I try," her tone was a bit more defensive than she had intended. She wondered what he was driving at.
"You're not very close to your father, are you?" Nick asked too perceptively. His gaze was steady, unreadable, as her azure eyes darted up to meet his. "Is he closer to your sister Regina?"
Laine smiled rather wistfully. "I don't really think Father's ever been close to anyone except my mother. But he does sort of idolize Regina."
The firm line of Nick's jaw hardened. "And would you do anything to try to please him?"
"Heavens, no!" Laine's accompanying laugh sounded a bit bleak. "Just ask him. He thinks I've always been the most frustrating child."
"But you'd like to please him?" Nick persisted gently.
Luckily, Laine could use their arrival at the tavern as an excuse not to answer. Pretending his question was driven out of her mind, she gave him a mischievous smile. "Let me warn you, you'll probably be mobbed by all the women here tonight. The whole campus has been abuzz since you came yesterday. It isn't every day that a nationally known attorney visits Latham."
"Laine, we are going to discuss your relationship with your father," Nick began tautly, but before he finished, she scooted ahead of him and into the tavern.
Her warning proved correct. The moment their arrival at the party was noticed, Dean Jacobs's wife, Dulcie, swooped down on Nick with an excessively enthusiastic welcome. Tucking one chubby hand around his arm, she promptly dragged him toward her chattering group of friends and away from Laine.
For the next two and a half hours, Laine only caught glimpses of Nick. Dulcie Jacobs was acting as if he had escorted her to the party and was introducing him around as if he were a close personal friend. It was by far the most boring party Laine had ever attended. Every time she turned around she had to hear about Nick.
Marge Simmons voiced Laine's unspoken observation. As they sat alone together sometime after ten, the older woman watched Dulcie and her friends encircle Nick and heaved a sigh of dismay. "Really, I don't think the faculty can be making a very good impression on Mr. Brannon. I wish they'd stop fawning over him."
"So do I, but I guess their behavior's understandable," Laine responded with a resigned shrug. "After all, everyone here wants Latham to receive that grant. And besides, they've probably read about him in the newspapers. He's something of a celebrity."
"And they're acting like starstruck adolescents. Quite frankly, I'm embarrassed," Marge said, then shrugged herself. "Well, I can't do anything about their actions, can I? So tell me, is Mr. Brannon nice? Do you think he'll give us the grant?"
"I really don't know," Laine admitted, then tensed as she gazed past Marge. One hand fluttered nervously on the tabletop. "All I know is that's he's headed this way and he certainly doesn't look all that pleased."
"Oh, dear. See you later then," Marge whispered then abandoned her friend before Nick even reached his destination.
A second later Laine was sitting quite still, transfixed by hard green eyes and a tan carved face, devoid of expression. When Nick reached for her hand, she extended her left automatically and stood as strong fingers pressed impellingly against her palm.
"We've stayed long enough to satisfy convention," he announced tersely. "We're leaving now."
Dulcie Jacobs made their exit no easy accomplishment. At least she tried, but Nick blocked her interference with a pleasantly spoken lie. "Laine and I have other plans for the rest of the evening. Thank you for having me here tonight. You've been a most attentive hostess, Mrs. Jacobs."
"Too attentive maybe?" Laine suggested while being gently impelled out of the tavern.
"Mrs. Jacobs nearly talked my ear off," Nick replied, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I applaud her involvement in the arts, but I didn't need to hear about every art council and theater committee she's served on since the beginning of time."
Laine fought a grin. "You should feel honored. Dulcie only tries to impress people she considers very important. She rarely bothers to speak to peasants like me."
"No doubt. That's one reason she's incredibly boring. I prefer people who don't put on airs."
"I know how irritating she can be," Laine commiserated as they approached the Winthrop house. "And I'm sorry you didn't enjoy the party."
"The evening can still be salvaged." A rather disconcerting secretive smile played over Nick's lips as he looked down at Laine, catching her hand in his. "We'll drive to the coast. A friend of mine has a house along the waterway. From the beach you can see Sapelo Island, and he won't mind if we go enjoy the view."
"That sounds wonderful," Laine murmured, and it did. Though she had to wonder if it wasn't insanity to agree to visit a secluded moonlit beach with Nick, she couldn't muster the will power to refuse his invitation. And when he took acquiescence for granted by opening the passenger door of his silver Jaguar sedan for her, she slipped into the seat without hesitation, much less protest.
Several minutes later a glimmering ribbon of black highway stretched out before their headlights as they traveled northeast. Nick drove as he did everything else: smoothly, competently, and with a relaxed self-confidence that allowed him to guide the powerful Jaguar with only one lean hand draped over the steering wheel. More than once Laine caught herself gazing at that hand and the other, remembering how she had felt last night when Nick had kissed her and those same hands had evoked her surprisingly ardent response. The mere memory quickened her pulse rate. With concentrated effort she turned to look out the window into the mysterious dark depths of the pine forest that bordered the roadway.
Flowing through the open windows, the cool night air stirred Laine's freshly washed hair, and the muted swish of the tires plus soft music from the car stereo began to quiet her lingering doubts about coming on this drive with Nick. Resting back in the leather seat, she turned her head to smile at him.
"Umm. It's a lovely night, isn't it? Cool enough to have the windows open, instead of turning on the air conditioner." She took a long deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Fresh air's so much nicer, don't you think?"
For an instant, Nick glanced at her, his features etched in the dim dash light. Though he turned his attention back to the road again almost immediately, he reached for her left hand then brought it over to rest in his on a muscular thigh.
His silent answering nod and his thumb, playing idly over Laine's fingertips, reawakened all her misgivings. Relaxing was next to impossible now, and as she unconsciously stared at Nick's profile, she understood once again why she sometimes felt so uneasy with him. There was a potential for ruthlessness in him, evidenced by that chiseled face and by the straightforward, unapologetic glint that shone in his eye. A man of indomitable will, he might prefer to employ finesse in accomplishing his goals, but Laine knew instinctively that he would be perfectly capable of taking what he wanted should the need arise.
This realization was disconcerting, yet she didn't even attempt to insist he take her home. Intrinsically honest as she was with herself, she knew she really wanted to be with him tonight, despite the slight trepidation she now felt, despite the potential consequences. Conflicting emotions, apprehension and anticipation, battled within her as they passed through a small coastal village where weathered houses dreamed beneath a starry sky and fishing boats bobbed gently in the marina. But it was the a
pprehension that was diminished and the anticipation that was height when Nick turned off the highway just beyond the village onto a white pebbled private drive. Live oaks, festooned with Spanish moss, met overhead, enclosing them in a tunnel as Nick drove on more slowly. A feeling of total isolation began to grip Laine, and when they rounded a curve in the drive and she saw the dark, obviously unoccupied bungalow sprawled out before them, she tensed.
Her reaction was duly noticed and read correctly. "You're right. No one's here," Nick said calmly, releasing her hand. "This is a summer house and Bill doesn't usually move his family in until mid-June."
"Oh. I see. A summer house must be nice. Do you own one too?"
The Jaguar glided to a smooth stop and Nick turned off the engine as he nodded. "You could call it a summer house but I'd prefer to live there all the time. Though my offices are in Atlanta and I own a house there, I think of my place on St. Simons Island as home."
"St. Simons. Isn't that a coincidence? Our family used to vacation there sometimes. Well, we did until… my mother died. After that, Father took Regina and me back only once. I guess there were just too many memories there."
With a compassionate nod, Nick got out of the car then came around to help her out. Leaving her a moment, he went to take a plaid throw from the trunk. When he returned, he casually placed a hand against the small of her back to direct her along the flagstone that wound around to the front of the elegant shingled bungalow. About thirty feet beyond they stepped into sand, and Laine nearly stumbled when her heels sank. Laughing, she held onto Nick's arm as she slipped out of first one shoe then the other, then padded barefoot across the beach with him. As he spread the blanket, she dug one foot into the cool sand and lifted it, allowing the fine grains to trickle between her toes.
For several moments Nick watched her before reaching up to take her hands and draw her down beside him. A salt scented breeze caressed them. The pale light of the crescent moon shimmered on the waters of the intracoastal waterway. To the south, in the distance, Sapelo Island was silhouetted against the night sky, its ancient live oaks standing sentinel over a band of salt marshes.
Passion's Price Page 5
