by Janet Dailey
"Do I look like a housekeeper to you?"
Without waiting for a reply she started up the stairs again. She could feel the blonde's freezing anger as surely as if a cold north wind were blowing.
Behind her she heard the man murmur very quietly and with considerable mockery, "You were really reaching for straws with that question, Monica."
"Shut up!" was the hissing reply.
In the living room Lacey paused near the sofa. She was about to suggest that the pair take a seat while she went to tell Cole they were here. At that same instant, she heard the bathroom door open.
"Lacey!" There was a savage bite in the way Cole called her name. Her head jerked at the sound, hearing his strides carrying him toward the living room.
"Have you been using my razor?" he demanded angrily, rounding the hall to stop short at the sight of the three people staring at him.
A white terry cloth towel was wrapped around his waist. A smaller hand towel was draped around his neck. His hair was glistening darkly from the shower and shaving lather covered his tanned face, except for one small strip that had been shaved away, revealing a telltale dot of red to indicate he had nicked himself with the blade.
Despite his abrupt halt upon entering the living room, he made no other outward sign that the appearance of his visitors had upset him in any way. His blue gaze was only faintly narrowed as it flicked from the woman to the man to Lacey.
Lifting a corner of the towel around his neck, he pressed it to the nick near his jaw. He seemed to expect a response from Lacey to his initial question.
"If you used the razor that was lying on the shelf above the sink, it was mine," she answered smoothly. "Yours is in the cabinet."
Her reply appeared to snap the thin thread of control the blonde had on her temper. "Cole, I want to know who this woman is and what she's doing here!" Her voice trembled violently.
"And good morning to you, too, Monica. Yes, it is a lovely day." The smile curving Cole's mouth was faintly sarcastic. He removed the towel from around his neck and began wiping away the foamy lather drying on his face.
"I think you'd better excuse me," Lacey inserted, certain she was witnessing only the first eruption from the attractive and obviously volatile blonde.
"Is the coffee done?" Cole asked. "I could use a cup."
"I think so," Lacey admitted.
He had partially cut off her retreat with his request. She had thought he would want an opportunity to explain in private the reason she was there, but evidently he didn't.
"Hello, Vic. How have you been?" Cole directed his calmly conversational remark to the man with the blonde as Lacey walked to the kitchen.
"Not bad, Cole. Not bad," was the reply.
But Lacey could hear the underlying laughter in the man's voice. She had no idea what the relationship was between the blonde and her escort, but it was fairly plain that he found a great deal of humor in the situation.
As she started to pour the coffee, a sobering thought occurred to her. Whoever the woman was, she believed she had a right to an explanation from Cole. And Lacey realized that she had no idea whether Cole was married or not.
Good lord! What if the woman was his wife? She nearly dropped the coffee pot, the color rushing from her face.
"You haven't answered my question, Cole," the blonde whom Cole had addressed as Monica reminded him in an icily enraged tone.
"I didn't think you really expected an answer," he replied in a deadly low voice. "I was certain you had it all worked out for yourself."
The cup clattered rather noisily in its saucer as Lacey carried it into the living room to Cole. Her complexion was unnaturally pale, her color not completely regained from the shocking possibility that had occurred to her.
The three were still standing, Cole and Monica eyeing each other with almost open hostility. Lacey came up to Cole's side, offering him the coffee she had poured. The cup ceased its rattling the instant he took it from her hand to set it on the nearest table.
"Aren't you going to introduce us, Cole?" the sandy-haired Vic prodded, gazing intently at Lacey.
A muscular arm curved lightly and possessively around the back of her waist, and she stiffened in resistance to Cole's touch. Her gaze flashed to his, meeting the bland glitter of his unusually dark blue eyes.
She heard the other woman's savagely indrawn breath, which resembled a cat's hiss, her green eyes glowing with hatred. And she realized that Cole was deliberately goading the woman, further incensing her with his action rather than trying to smooth her ruffled fur.
"You haven't formally met my roommate, have you?" His steel blue gaze swung to the couple, his arm tightening around Lacey's waist when she would have drawn away.
He had referred to her as his roommate last night in a joking sense, but his use of it now was provoking and suggestive. He propelled her stiffly resisting figure a few steps forward.
"Lacey, I would like you to meet Monica Hamilton and her brother Vic Hamilton." He identified them only by name without any explanation as to his relationship to either of them. "This is Lacey Andrews."
Monica merely gave Lacey a green look of hatred, but her brother reached to shake her hand. "It's definitely a pleasure to meet you, Lacey," he murmured.
He retained his hold of her hand. The look he gave her made Lacey feel as if she were wearing a black negligee instead of being so fully covered by long pajamas and her housecoat.
"Back off, Vic," Cole ordered quietly.
Lacey's hand was released as Vic smiled mockingly from her to Cole. "I see, private property — no trespassing, is that it?"
"That's it," Cole agreed with a curt nod.
"Don't you think," Lacey suggested stiffly, "that you should explain to your friends the exact circumstances for my being here, Cole?" As far as she was concerned this farce had continued much too long already.
He glanced at her, seeing her rigid with anger. "don't think Monica is interested in learning how you came to be here, Lacey," he replied drolly. "Nor a description of what happened between us last night. She's seen all the evidence with her own eyes and filled in all the sordid details with her imagination."
"Tell her," Lacey insisted.
With a mild shrug of acquiescence, he swung his gaze to Monica. "Despite the way it looks, this is all perfectly innocent," he told her. "As a matter of fact, Lacey and I slept in separate beds."
"Before or after?" Monica snapped.
There was an I-told-you-so glint in his eyes when he glanced back at Lacey, and she acknowledged silently that Monica was beyond listening to any explanation at this time. And Cole was to blame for that.
There was a challenge in the set of his jaw when he again reverted his attention to Monica. "You haven't mentioned why you're here."
"We came to invite you to dinner and arrange an impromptu beach party for this afternoon," she replied caustically. "Of course, I was under the impression that you were here alone with nothing to do all day."
"Obviously you were wrong," Cole returned with a complacent smile.
His arm tightened unexpectedly around Lacey's waist, drawing her more fully against his side before she could make a move to stop him.
"Don't!" she protested in a low angry whisper.
By the time his grip lessened, it was too late. Monica was already turning on her heel, her long blond hair swinging around her shoulders.
"We're going, Vic," she snapped.
"I'll see you, Cole," Vic shrugged, but it was Lacey he was looking at before he turned to follow his sister.
"Monica, do you remember what I told you the other day?" Cole's voice halted her at the top of the stairs, her attractive features haughty with pride. "I think you understand now that I meant it when I said, 'Don't call me, I'll call you.'"
Liquid green eyes shimmered briefly and resentfully at Lacey. Then Monica was descending the stairs with a faintly smiling Vic behind her. Neither Lacey nor Cole moved or spoke until they heard the front door shut.
But the deep, rich laughter coming from his throat stunned her into silence. The hand resting lightly on the back of her waist suddenly exerted pressure to sweep her against his chest.
"You' re a godsend, Lacey!" he laughed.
In the next second, his mouth was swooping down to claim her lips in a hard, sure kiss that took her breath away. When he lifted his head to study her, her reaction was chaotic.
The firm imprint of his mouth still tingled on her lips, the scent of soap and shaving cream assailing her nose. Her heart was tripping over itself, unable to find its normal beat. Over all that, confusion reigned at his lightning change from sarcastic coldness with Monica to this warm, hearty amusement.
He locked his hands together at the small of her back. Lacey's own fingers were spread across his chest in mute protest, aware of the solidness of his naked flesh.
His wickedly glinting eyes looked deeply into hers, crinkling at the corners while taking note of the confusion darkening her brown eyes.
"I've been trying to get that attractive crow off my back for several months," he explained. "I think the sight of you scared her off for good. For that, you possess my undying gratitude."
"Who is she?" Lacey frowned.
"A couple of years ago I briefly, and unwisely, made her my fiancée. I soon rectified that mistake, but Monica isn't the type to take rejection lightly. In fact, she's been trying to persuade me to change my mind ever since I broke our engagement." His face was disconcertingly near hers, the chiseled male contours shadowed by the overnight beard growth.
"So that's why you deliberately let her believe we'd spent the night together — in the intimate sense," Lacey said, half in accusation and half in conclusion.
"Exactly. She wouldn't have believed me if I'd tried to convince her otherwise," Cole insisted calmly. "Knowing the way her mind works, if there'd been a motion picture camera hidden in the house to film all that happened — or failed to happen — last night, she still would have been certain that I'd somehow messed up the film."
Lacey wriggled free of his unrestraining hold, finding his nearness just a little too disturbing, especially when he was only half-clothed. She moved a few feet away under his watchful yet mellow gaze.
"I am sorry, though," he added. "It wasn't really fait to involve you, not when you're an innocent bystander." A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth, deepening the cleft in his chin. "I hope you don't mind being unjustly branded as a scarlet woman."
"Spending a night with a man in today's society doesn't put a scarlet stain on a girl anymore," Lacey answered, adultly shrugging away the suggestion. "To be honest, I thought for a moment that she was your wife, and I was more worried about being named a correspondent in some divorce suit."
Cole winced mockingly. "Please don't remind me how close I came to having Monica for my wife. A man doesn't like to believe he was ever that much of a fool."
"She's very beautiful," Lacey commented absently, picturing the green-eyed blonde in her mind.
"If ever the saying 'Beauty is as beauty does' is true, it is when it's applied to Monica," Cole stated. Then he asked unexpectedly, "Can you cook?"
It took Lacey a second to follow his rapid change of the subject. "I'm about average — definitely not cordon bleu. Why?"
"I'm hungry and I was hoping I could persuade you to fix breakfast," he grinned.
"I think first I'll get dressed," she replied, adding silently to herself, before any more visitors show up.
Cole rubbed the stubble on his chin. "And I still have to shave. You said my razor was in the cabinet?"
Lacey nodded. "I noticed it there this morning."
She was only a step behind him as he started down the hallway. When he stopped at the bathroom door, she started to walk by him to her bedroom, but he laid a hand on her forearm to stop her.
"I want you to know that I didn't mean this to happen this morning," he told her, a serious frown drawing his dark brows together. "When I made the suggestion last night that we both stay here, I had no plan whatsoever to use you to get rid of Monica."
"I believe that," she assured him. "It never occurred to me that you might have."
"I hope not." Cole paused for a second. "If I'd known she was coming over this morning, I would have insisted you leave rather than have you the subject of her vile suspicions."
"It doesn't matter." Lacey didn't want to dwell on Monica's suspicions, "Would you like bacon or sausage with your eggs?" she asked, using his tactic of changing the subject.
"Bacon — crisp," he smiled, aware of what she was doing. "And three poached eggs on a slice of dark toast."
"I was asking your preference, not taking your order," she sighed with mocking exasperation.
His smile deepened for a teasing minute before he walked into the bathroom and closed the door. Lacey stared at the white woodwork, then moved to her own bedroom.
Cole Whitfield. The man in person was vastly different from the ill-tempered voice on the telephone. This Cole Whitfield she could like.
Four
* * *
The bacon was already fried and draining on a paper towel when Cole wandered into the kitchen-dining area. Lacey lifted the poached eggs onto the dark toast.
"Looks good." He reached across the counter bar to take the plate from her hand.
Lacey hoped the food tasted good, but she didn't say so. "The silverware, salt and pepper are already on the table. Coffee to drink or would you like something else?"
"Coffee is fine." He moved to the table where a place setting and a clean cup were laid. Lacey brought him the plate of bacon, as well as the coffee pot to fill his Cup. He glanced around the table, then at her. "Aren't you eating?"
"Just a slice of toast" She walked back to the kitchen area for her coffee cup and the small plate with additional slices of toast on it, one for her and the rest for him.
"Are you watching your figure?" There was something mocking in the sweeping look he gave her as she turned to rejoin him. Lacey hoped it implied that there was nothing wrong with her shape.
"No," she said. "I thought I'd go for a swim, so I didn't want anything heavy in my stomach."
She had expected him to say he would come with her, but he only nodded at her statement. Lacey wondered what he planned to do but decided it was better not to pry. After all, nobody liked a nosy roommate.
The colored bamboo blinds at the dining-room windows were raised, letting in the morning sunlight. Lacey nibbled at her toast and gazed at the ocean view of sparkling waves and brilliant gold beaches.
"How long have you worked for Bowman?" Cole asked with apparent casualness.
"I've worked for the firm for almost five years and for M … Mr. Bowman the past two." Despite her unusual living arrangement with Cole, Lacey decided it was wiser if he wasn't aware Mike was a friend as well as her boss.
"You must have gone to work for the company straight out of school," he commented.
"Straight out of secretarial school," she said, qualifying his answer.
"Did you attend school here?"
"No, in Richmond. That's where I lived — where my family still lives." Lacey dunked the last bite of toast in her coffee.
"What made you decide to come here to work? There must have been plenty of openings in Richmond where you could be with your family and friends." He eyed her curiously.
"That age-old desire to leave home and be totally on my own." She shrugged and cupped a hand under the dripping piece of toast to carry it to her mouth.
It occurred to her that she had the perfect opening to ask him about his family and background. But by the time she was able to swallow the food in her mouth, it was too late to take advantage of it.
"You're a very good cook," Cole stated. "Remind me to recommend you if you ever decide to change your profession to chef."
"Thank you." Lacey was ridiculously pleased by his compliment and tried not to show it.
He pushed his plate to the side and leaned back in his chair. "Since you did the cooking, I guess it's only fair that I wash the dishes."
"I …" She was about to insist that she would clean up, then decided she would fast turn into his maid if she wasn't careful. And that wasn't the way she intended to spend her vacation. "All right," she agreed.
"What? No protest?" Laughter danced in his deep blue eyes.
"No protest. I hate washing dishes." Lacey rose from the table before she succumbed to the old-fashioned notion that doing dishes wasn't man's work. "I'm going for my swim. Have fun."
In her room, Lacey stripped off her slacks and knit top down to the bathing suit beneath. The suit was the promised vacation present to herself. Its slick material gave its blue stay color a metallic sheen and molded itself to her slender figure like a second skin.
Draping a beach towel around her shoulders, she closed the door to her room behind her. Lacey avoided the kitchen, where she could hear water running in the sink, and slipped out through the glass-paneled balcony doors to the steps leading down to the beach.
The water was cool. Lacey had second thoughts about her swim, her skin shivering as she immersed herself in the waves. But after some vigorous strokes, striking a parallel line to the beach, she soon became acclimatized to the temperature of the water and relaxed to do a bit of body-surfing.
Floating buoyantly, Lacey let the wave carry her toward shore. Before she scraped bottom, she righted herself and started to wade back to deeper water. As she made her turn seaward, she saw Cole farther down the beach. In hip boots, he was casting a fishing line into the surf. At least she had her answer as to what he planned to do and why he hadn't mentioned joining her for a swim.
An hour later, she decided she'd had enough of the sun and sea for a while and waded onto the beach. Shaking the sand out of her towel, she dried herself off and Danced toward Cole. He lifted a hand in greeting and she waved back.
