Even in the aftermath, he wouldn't release her completely. Turning her onto her side as he turned also, he drew her close back against him, one arm draped possessively around her waist, his body curved around hers.
"You're mine, Laine," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. "A bargain, even at the price you're asking."
Afloat in a fulfillment that far surpassed any of her virginal expectations, she was without the energy even to try to explain to him again. Her eyelids fluttered shut, but as she drifted into sleep she was thinking he was right about one thing. She was irrevocably his.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next morning Laine awoke alone in the bed. Sunlight streaming through the open slats of the shuttered window produced a geometric pattern on the floor in front of it and she lay still awhile as her eyes adjusted to the brightness. At last she shifted her position slightly, and with the feel of the sheet gliding over bare skin came the realization that she was totally unclothed. The night came back in a rush of memories, both erotic and disturbing, and with a soft moan she nuzzled her cheek against Nick's pillow, detecting the faint scent of him that still lingered there. A constrictive ache gathered in her chest. How could she have responded to him with such absolute abandon, knowing he believed what she had given in love had really been a bribe? How could she have?
Unable to answer that question, she burrowed her face deeper into Nick's pillow. Twirling a strand of hair round and round on one finger, she instinctively curled up in a self-protective ball in the center of the bed, as if she sought security by assuming the position in which she had slept as a child. That didn't help, so she stretched out her legs again while absently continuing to twirl her hair. It almost seemed she could still feel the burning imprint of Nick's hands on her body, and she knew without a doubt that he had etched his mark indelibly on her consciousness. If only he loved her half as much as she loved him.
… But he didn't, and she was afraid to show the true depths of her feelings and risk devastating rejection. Yet somehow she needed to convince him that her response last night hadn't been for her father's benefit, that what she had given hadn't been a bribe.
Caught up as she was in pensive thought, she was startled by the sudden sound of the door opening. She squeezed her eyes shut as every muscle in her froze and she could scarcely force herself to turn over and open her eyes again, even when Nick softly called her name.
Yet, she did it, groaning inwardly with the little catch in her heart that came when she found him standing by the bed, clad only in a short navy bathrobe. He looked too good to her, and though she ached to touch him she suppressed that desire, sensing an odd tension in him. His expression was unreadable, and when she could detect no hint of tenderness for her in it, tears that needed badly to be shed gathered hotly behind her eyes.
"I've made us some coffee," he finally announced, his deep voice devoid of emotion as he inclined his head toward the tray he'd placed on the bedside table. "And I remembered to bring sugar for yours."
For some reason, that small consideration nearly snapped the fragile control she held on her emotions. Unable to look at him any longer, afraid she might recognize contempt in his stony features, she turned her face back into the pillow. She wouldn't allow herself to cry, however—she hadn't cried in years—but the sheer effort of damming the tears that threatened to flow made her entire body begin to shake.
"For God's sake, Laine," he muttered roughly as he sat down on the edge of the bed. A hand descended on her shoulder, warm even through the sheet. "Don't cry."
"I'm not crying," she said, her voice muffled. "I never cry."
"What's wrong then? Why the trembling?" His voice gentled. "Laine, I didn't take anything from you last night you didn't want to give."
She lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes clouding with self-disdain and some resentment. "Don't you think I know that, Nick?" she asked woodenly. "How do you think it makes me feel to remember how… eagerly I responded, even knowing that you thought… think that I'm little better than a…"
"Quiet!" he uttered harshly, the fingers curved over her shoulder pressing down to delicate bone. He turned her over onto her back, cupping her face in one hand, forcing her to meet his piercing gaze. "You're exaggerating my reaction. Oh, I'll admit I was angry, but…"
"Angry! You were furious, Nick, and absolutely unwilling to listen when I tried to explain that my question had just been horribly ill-timed." She laid a small hand on the sleeve of his robe. "Really, Nick, I was just half asleep and my mind wandered, and all of a sudden I just found myself asking about the grant. I certainly didn't mean that I expected you to give it simply because we… our relationship had changed. Why can't you believe that?"
"I shouldn't have said what I did," he declared softly, evading her question. "My remarks were crass and unnecessary, and I apologize for them."
Lowering her gaze, Laine was unable to prevent the slight wobbling of her chin. Tears filled her eyes, obscuring her vision as she plucked miserably at the bedspread, but she blinked them away before Nick tilted her chin upward again. A saddened resigned half smile trembled on her lips. "So you still don't believe me? You really think I could…"
"Hell, I don't know what I think," he muttered, stroking his fingertips across her cheek. "I only know I shouldn't have said what I did."
To escape his touch, Laine sat up, tucking the sheet over her breasts under her arms to secure it, unaware that in doing so she created an enchanting décolleté drape. Nick, however, made her immediately aware of her provocative state of undress. Eyes, narrowed to green slits, swept lazily over the length of her shapely body, outlined against the bedcoverings, and lingered with breathtaking intensity on her breasts. When he slowly reached out to trace his fingers over the beginning swell and down into the hint of cleavage exposed above the sheet, conflicting desires warred within her. His caresses were so arousing—she felt at once vibrantly and wholly alive—yet for the moment the instinct for self-preservation overcame even physical need.
"I think maybe I should just leave today," she said almost inaudibly, then shivered with unbidden delight as fingers brushed over warm firm flesh. She steeled herself to the tumultuous effect his touch was having on her senses and continued, "I mean, considering the doubts you have about me and my motive for being here, I think it will be best for me to go away. Don't… don't you agree?"
"Not at all. I think you should stay and prove all my doubts wrong. Prove you need me as much as I need you," he whispered coaxingly. "Stay, Laine."
Though she shook her head, resolve was fading fast. A soft defeated moan escaped her as he loosened the sheet, allowing it to drop down round her waist. His large warm hands covered full creamy-fleshed breasts. When the nipples surged to tingling erectness against his grazing palms and a slight triumphant smile curved his mouth, she knew she was helplessly lost again. For a young woman who had always been strongly self-disciplined, she was pathetically weak when it came to resisting Nick. Her love overwhelmed her misgivings, and she found it impossible to deny either him or herself the pleasures he had introduced to her—the special joy they had shared together last night. Laine's eyes fluttered shut as Nick lowered his head. His hard mouth captured hers, exerting a slightly twisting pressure that sent a rushing thrill through her. With a little cry of total submission, she slipped her arms up around his shoulders and pressed her lips to his neck as he lowered her onto the bed again. As he lay down beside her, she turned eagerly to him, her hands undoing his belt and slipping his robe off his shoulders. She delighted in the touch that swept over her in intimate exploration, possessing what was so undeniably his. His caresses tormented her until she let him know with her sighs and gentle touches she was eager to accept him with a tremulous sigh of ecstasy. Only then did she feel complete. And despite the consequences and loneliness she knew she might have to face in the future, at the moment she knew she was exactly where she belonged—with him.
After that there was no turning back. Nick mov
ed Laine's belongings into his room and she uttered no protest. A display of outraged innocence would have been ridiculous, and besides, she had made her decision. She knew she had to give him her love even if there was little hope that he might ever return her feelings. She was gloriously happy; her only regret was that the days and nights of her holiday were slipping by so unreasonably fast. By Saturday she longed to be able to make time stand still in this exclusive little world she and Nick were sharing. That was the prime reason she was somewhat disappointed when he informed her he had invited Walt and Joan Bent for dinner Saturday night. Though she liked the couple, she couldn't forget how little vacation she had left, and she wanted to spend every moment alone with him. Then, realizing her reaction was typical of a woman in love for the first time in her life, she was able to chuckle wryly at herself and begin to look forward to becoming better acquainted with Nick's friends.
Laine's newfound anticipation was rewarded. Saturday evening was truly enjoyable. The Bennetts were witty and unpretentious, which helped make the lobster dinner Laine and Nick had prepared together a complete success. After the meal, while the men strolled out on the deck, the two women made coffee to go with the raspberry torte Laine had baked. Chatting about their shared interests, they placed cutlery and china cups and saucers on a red and black Chinese enameled tray. Then as Laine was cutting generous portions of the torte, Joan suddenly ceased talking. The silence lengthened noticeably. Glancing curiously up from her task, Laine found the other woman watching her speculatively.
"Oh, dear, I didn't mean to be staring," Joan apologized, then gave Laine a mischievous grin. "But I was just wondering if you know you're the talk of the island these days?"
"Me? You must be kidding! I'm being talked about because I'm spending my vacation with Nick? Surely that doesn't shock anyone? I imagine he's had women staying here before."
"Oh, certainly, he has," Joan readily admitted with a dismissive toss of one hand. "No one's shocked because you're here, dear. We islanders aren't as provincial as that. The reason you're a favorite topic of conversation is that you're so different from the other young women Nick's had visit him here. And of course he treats you so differently that it's obvious to all of us that you must be someone special to him."
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean," Laine said weakly, a tiny perplexed frown knitting her brow.
"Why do you think he treats me differently from the way he's always treated previous… er, guests?"
"I don't just think it; I know it for a fact," Joan corrected as she took cream from the refrigerator and poured it into the cream pitcher. "You see, though Walt and I have known Nick for years, he's never gone out of his way to introduce the women who stayed here to his friends. Oh, I don't mean that he tried to hide them—if we bumped into him in the village or dropped by here, he happily introduced us. But he never seemed to care whether they met anyone or not. You're different, though. He brought you to our party and he invited Walt and me over for tonight. And I understand the Fredericks were here for a few days after you arrived."
"I still don't understand the significance," Laine confessed, rearranging the items on the tray to make room for the dessert plates. "I mean, simply because Nick chose to do a bit of socializing during this vacation doesn't necessarily mean I'm special to him."
"Maybe you didn't know that Nick hasn't been seriously involved with anyone in years. During his midtwenties there were some long-term relationships, but then his career skyrocketed and he never seemed to want to make time for a woman in his life." Joan smiled fondly. "Actually, I'm always telling him he's not the marrying kind, but since I've met you… well, I wonder."
"You're overestimating his feelings for me," Laine murmured, wishing she could believe in Joan's romantic notions but unable to. A regretful smile played over her lips as she shook her head. "I imagine you'll soon see that I'm gone out of his life and as forgotten as his other women are."
"I hope not." She paused. "You're really in love with him, aren't you?"
"I didn't realize I was so transparent."
"Probably only to another woman—women know how to read the signs," Joan said with a comforting smile. She hesitated a moment, then added, "I guess I could be wrong, but I think I've seen glimpses of those signs in Nick too. I'm certain he's very fond of you. And to tell you the truth, Laine, I think he's often lonely. He needs a woman like you."
"He might not agree with that," Laine reminded her, lifting her shoulders in a resigned shrug. "Actually, you were probably right all along—he's not the marrying kind. Who knows, maybe he's introducing me to all his friends because he's tired of being alone with me. Maybe he invited you and Walt tonight because he's bored."
Joan laughed. "Oh, I'm sure you know Nick better than that. Believe me, if you bored him, you wouldn't be here right now. Very likely, he would have asked you to leave. He can be blunt on occasion."
Lifting her eyes heavenward, Laine grimaced comically. "Tell me about it."
Their conversation was halted abruptly when Nick strode into the kitchen, but he seemed not to notice the sudden, rather guilty, silence. With a wry smile he glanced at the tray Laine was preparing, then looked up at her. "I'm sure Walt would never try to rush his hostess, but he can't seem to think about anything except the delicious dessert you promised him. So if you could bring it out soon, we might manage to stave off his near starvation. At least until his midnight snack."
"That man," Joan said, shaking her head, though her expression was lovingly indulgent. "He can eat as often and as much as he wants and never gain an ounce. It's so unfair. If I take one bite of any kind of dessert, I immediately gain five pounds. I'm serious; that's really true."
Laughing with Nick at the blatant exaggeration, Laine finished with the tray, then she and Joan preceded Nick as he carried it out to the deck. It was a moonless night, but the sky was star-filled and Nick had provided added illumination by switching on a couple of the post lamps on the perimeter of the deck. After dessert was finished and Laine had won Walt's rave reviews for her baking expertise, conversation continued, but at times Laine's thoughts were elsewhere. While she and Nick shared the lawn settee opposite the one where the Bennetts sat, she relaxed beneath the pressure of Nick's arm around her shoulders and was content as his fingertips idly brushed the smooth skin of her upper arm. She felt the oddest sense of belonging with him, and sometimes, like now, their relationship seemed more comfortable than those of many married couples she'd seen. But she reminded herself firmly that she was only playing hostess in his house and that the situation was not permanent. Yet, she couldn't erase Joan's comments from her mind. What signs of being in love had she glimpsed in Nick? What were the signs that betrayed a man's feelings? Laine wasn't altogether sure she knew. Attentiveness? Nick was attentive. Tenderly considerate? He was that too. Passionate? He was certainly that. But then, Nick had displayed those qualities since the moment she had met him, and he certainly hadn't loved her then.
As he spoke beside her, she used the opportunity to gaze up at his face, soft blue eyes searching his clear-cut features as if she hoped to find the answers to all her questions there. When she continued to look up at him even after he finished speaking, he noticed and glanced down at her with a slow indulgent smile then placed a teasing kiss on the tip of her small nose. Was that in any way a sign? she asked herself, unresisting as he drew her closer against him. And she felt a tiny bud of hope bloom inside her even as her mind warned in a haunting whisper that she was hoping for something she could never have.
The next day, Sunday, was different. It began well. After sleeping late, Laine and Nick had brunch, then took a long walk on the beach while Greta cavorted along beside them. When they returned about an hour later, they escaped the scorching rays of the midday sun by relaxing in the house. In the cool shutter-darkened great room, soft music played on the stereo, and when Laine started to join Nick on the sofa with a book, he pulled her down onto his lap instead. For a long time in a comf
ortable silence they simply held each other, his arms lightly around her, her own resting against his upper chest as she cupped the strong brown column of his throat in her hands. It was a sleepy kind of day, and Laine laid her head against his shoulder and responded drowsily when he occasionally covered her mouth with his, bestowing kisses that weren't preludes to intimacy, but self-complete and satisfying in themselves.
Laine had rarely felt so relaxed. The firm familiar lips that moved over hers with the lightness of a gentle breeze induced that sense of belonging again and she would have been content to remain in his arms this way forever. That wasn't to be, however. Suddenly, without warning, a forced interruptive cough shattered the peaceful silence. Laine opened her eyes and lifted her head as her father stepped between the sliding doors into the great room.
She took a swift sharp breath, hardly able to believe what she was seeing. Feeling as if someone had delivered a blow to her chest, she pressed a fist between her breasts and moved quickly yet with exceptional grace off Nick's lap to a place some distance from him on the sofa. Almost of their own volition, her hands went up to smooth her tousled sun-washed hair as she stared incredulously at Thornton Winthrop.
"Father! What are you doing here?" she nearly gasped, then belatedly tried to disguise a comingling of dismay and shocked surprise.
"Nice to see you again, Thornton," Nick calmly interceded, rising to extend his right hand to the older man, mercifully giving Laine a few seconds to regain her composure. Surreptitiously, she took a few nerve-steadying breaths to help her recover from the shock of Thornton's sudden appearance. She wasn't upset that he had found her in Nick's arms—he should have expected that. What did upset her was that he had even come. It wasn't like him to seek her out, and that in itself made his motive suspect. She strongly suspected it was his desire for further information about the grant rather than concern for her that had brought him here. Unaware that her lips were pressed tightly together, she simply stared at her father as he took a seat in the chair across from the sofa. She saw him flick a cool gaze over her faded cut-off jeans and equally faded halter, and when he gave her a thin smile, she was incapable of returning it.
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