Rebel's Spirit
Susan Connell
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ua32aec3c-492b-50b4-9bce-cc7fb2d44665)
Excerpt (#u9c4266ee-b255-5d6f-af5f-26b46ba80355)
Dear Reader (#u24641e86-b41a-5072-af80-59b548f63e52)
Title Page (#ub8aead3c-05b4-520b-a788-1b973ad268f8)
About the Author (#u718cfddd-c55e-5af4-8f79-7ef1914a4c5a)
Dedication (#u50943b35-11a1-5b86-bf0a-5791ae7f04ec)
One (#u51f7e14d-1945-5474-9435-e6bc7e5d9dce)
Two (#u7c23a5d3-5fc0-5902-b960-4c0a8ff2f954)
Three (#ua33389d6-685b-5582-a07f-95ea9b365191)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“In Case You’ve Forgotten, And I’m Sure You Have, My High School Reunion Is Tonight.”
“I know that,” Raleigh said. “Rebecca, I’m sorry—”
“I know, I know. You won’t be able to be my date. Well, we both knew even before our talk that you would have come up with a last-minute excuse not to go with me.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “You’re off the hook.
That’s right. You don’t have to suffer the embarrassment of being caught with Reb Barnett. Sure, a few people know we’ve been seeing each other, but don’t worry. There’s no proof that the girl from the wrong side of the river ever got close to you. No one’s ever claimed that, anyway. And if someone had, who would believe it?” She slammed the door in his face.
Don’t miss the romantic adventures of the otherGIRLS MOST LIKELY TO…coming your wayin 1997—only in Silhouette Desire!
Dear Reader,
Happy holidays from the staff at Silhouette Desire! As you can see by the special cover treatment this month, these books are our holiday gifts to you. And each and every story is so wonderful that I know you’ll want to buy extras to give to your friends!
We begin with Jackie Merritt’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Montana Christmas, which is the conclusion of her spectacular MADE IN MONTANA series. The fun continues with Instant Dad, the final installment in Raye Morgan’s popular series THE BABY SHOWER.
Suzannah Davis’s Gabriel’s Bride is a classic—and sensuous—love story you’re sure to love. And Anne Eames’s delightful writing style is highlighted to perfection in Christmas Elopement. For a story that will make you feel all the warmth and goodwill of the holiday season, don’t miss Kate Little’s Jingle Bell Baby.
And Susan Connell begins a new miniseries—THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO…—about three former high school friends who are now all grown up in Rebel’s Spirit. Look for upcoming books in the series in 1997.
Happy holidays and happy reading from
AND THE STAFF OF SILHOUETTE DESIRE
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Rebel’s Spirit
Susan Connell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUSAN CONNELL
has a love of traveling that has taken her all over the world—Greece, Spain, Portugal, Central and South America, to name just a few places. While working for the foreign service she met a U.S. navy pilot, and eight days later they were engaged. Twenty-one years and several moves later, Susan, her husband, Jim, and daughter, Catherine, call the New Jersey shore home. When she’s not writing, her part-time job at a local bookstore, Mediterranean cooking and traveling with her family are some of her favorite activities. Susan has been honored by New Jersey Romance Writers with their coveted Golden Leaf Award. She loves hearing from her readers.
For Cathy Connell
Thank heaven for little girls, they grow up in the most delightful way…and with the best ideas!
Love, Mom
One (#ulink_0362877e-d6f8-534b-838f-e91b7d01a600)
The thrill was back and building in the pit of Rebecca Barnett’s stomach. Maybe the mixing scents of evergreen and chlorinated water had something to do with it, but she hadn’t experienced such heady temptation since high school.
Stepping onto the diving board, she began lowering her towel, then stopped. A chilly breeze against her backside had her gasping with surprise. Was she crazy? She would have sworn she’d put this kind of bad-girl mischief behind her. A twenty-eight-year-old, self-made, successful businesswoman did not engage in these sorts of high jinks.
Clutching her towel closer, she looked down at the shimmering rectangle of bright blue water. Invitation pulsated in every drop. As a tingle of excitement began curling through her body, she felt her shoulders relaxing.
So what if the main reason she’d returned to Follett River was to impress everyone at her high school’s tenyear reunion? That event wouldn’t be taking place for another four weeks. Meanwhile, how often did a girl stumble on an opportunity like this?
Rising up on her toes she strained for a look outside the privacy fence. There was no one in sight.
No one to catch her in the act.
No one would ever know.
She lowered her heels to the roughened surface and bit back a smile.
“Except m-me,” she said as another shiver began shaking her five-foot, eight-inch frame.
True, the unadulterated thrill of a stolen skinny-dip should not be reason enough to brave blustery November temperatures…but it was. And she knew why. This wasn’t just anyone’s swimming pool. Fate had made her the temporary tenant of Show-No-Mercy Hanlon, the nemesis of her senior year.
His Clark Kent appearance notwithstanding, one censoring look from those riveting hazel eyes and Mr. Hanlon had had her trembling with fears she couldn’t even name. She still had to wonder why half the girls in Follett River High had managed to have major crushes on him—the history teacher from Hades. She shook her head. Some things, she guessed, were destined to remain a mystery to her.
Who cared? she thought, raking her fingers through her short, dark hair. She’d just found out that Show-No-Mercy Hanlon, now a professor at the local college, would be out of town until the end of the week. A smug smile of satisfaction was already tugging at her shivering lips. It had taken ten years and a twist of fate, but she was finally going to pull one over on him.
Loosening her towel, she twirled the bright red terry cloth above her head then pitched it over her shoulder. As goose bumps covered her body she could almost hear the raving voices of her old friends.
“Are you crazy, Reb? If Hanlon catches us, we’ll be stuck in detention so long they’ll be putting brass name plates on our chairs!”
Yes, this idea was most likely crazy. Certainly juvenile. But with Christmas just around the corner, even Santa’s reindeer couldn’t have dragged her off this diving board. “This one’s for you, Hanlon!”
Running forward, she kicked up into the chilly autumn air then let loose a bloodcurdling whoop as she cannonballed into the pool. Steeling herself against the numbing cold, she began pulling herself through the water. Only sheer willpower kept her below the surface. The trip to the shallow end was upstream all the way, but that was no surprise. Wasn’t everything in her life?
Raleigh Hanlon heard the shout and splash as he stepped out of his car in the driveway. Prayers and curses shared equal time under his breath as he sprinted for the gate. The old nightmare slamming against his heart was real again. “Hold on!” Why in hell had he put off closing the pool for so long? He riffled through his key ring, dropping it once before he located the right key. “Please, hold on. Dammit, don’t die!”
Jamming the key into the lock, he gave it a hard twist, then kicked open the six-foot wall of wood. As he began struggling out of his jacket he saw the red towel lying behind the diving board and then the dark-haired form in the water. “I’ll get you out. Just take my hand, Buddy. Buddy, take my hand!”
Raleigh’s frantic movements stopped abruptly when a head, then shoulders surfaced at the shallow end. His heart.was still hammering against his rib cage as he slumped against the fence. The whole business was a prank. A thoughtless, irresponsible prank. Anger welled where seconds before sheer terror had ruled. He was getting too damn old for this.
Pushing off the fence, he opened his mouth to speak. A split second later the intruder stood, stark naked and facing away from him. Raleigh slowly closed his mouth. His need to chastise vanished as he took in the sight before him. The incident might have “high school prank” written all over it, but she certainly didn’t.
The slim brunette’s womanly form glistened as if it were a live pink statue. Liquid light sparkled at her shoulders, played near the indentation of her spine and reflected off the pleasantly defined muscles in her back. His gaze dropped to where gentle wavelets were splashing against her firm bottom. The sight almost made up for the unfortunate placement of the pool which had her at the far end and facing away from him.
As he kept his gaze fixed to her backside he felt an undeniable tug of pure male awareness. Or was it recognition? Did he know her? He dragged his hand along his jaw as the need to call out to have her explain her presence slipped farther back in his mind.
When she pressed her thumbs against the sleek curves of her hips, all his righteous questions began disappearing from his head. Who cared how she’d gotten into the locked pool area? Who cared why she’d chosen his pool? Whoever she was, she was alive and presenting an admirable case for voyeurism. Dripping with a dangerous mixture of innocence and eroticism, she made every fantasy he’d ever had pale next to her reality.
As another revelation hit him, he shook his head. He’d spent his adult life teaching history, and only this moment did he finally understand how men could fight great wars over beauty such as this.
Right now he was waging war within himself. Should he continue to stare, or was it time to speak up? A smile pulled at his mouth when she laughed out loud then smacked the surface.
As he considered his dilemma further she let out an impassioned “Gotcha!” then leaned back into the water.
His heart thumped as he caught a glimpse of tightened pink nipples, an expanse of smooth, pale flesh and a neat triangle of dark hair at the apex of her thighs. Then water ribboned over her, distorting her perfection to a surreal dreamscape where fantasies melted and only heroic efforts could retrieve them.
He shoved an uneasy hand through his hair as memories of Buddy rushed in. He was no hero, he reminded himself. Hell, he couldn’t even keep a naked woman out of his pool.
Impatience over the battling images got the better of him; he didn’t suffer fools lightly, especially himself. His gaze circled the pool area, then landed back on the form moving through the water. He might be waking up in a hot sweat at three in the morning over this vision, but she’d be gone by then. Sent on her way with a stern warning he was already composing in his mind.
Judging the finishing point of her underwater swim, he walked down the landscaped steps to it and waited at the end of the pool until she came to him.
One last, languid stroke brought her to the surface. And there it was again. Even with her eyes shut and water streaming over her face and hair, he had an even stronger feeling that he knew her. Before he could place her, she was reaching up then closing her fingers over the top of his shoe. Her gracefully athletic move to haul herself out ended abruptly as she twisted her head to look up at him.
“You!” she said, releasing her grip. Sputtering, she dropped below the surface. A second later she came up clutching for the pool edge and shoving wet hair from her eyes. Eyes he’d seen before. Eyes filled with fear…or was that indignation? He cocked his head as a flashback jolted through his consciousness.
Struggling to catch her breath, she locked gazes with him. “You’re not supposed to be back until the weekend. W-what are you doing here?”
Indignation. Definitely indignation. “What am I doing here? This is my property. The question is, what are you doing here?”
Her mascara had smudged below her eyes, making them somehow bluer and wider and more vulnerable than he was sure she would want them to appear. She blinked, and the water beading on her lashes plopped onto her cheekbones.
“I’ve moved into Alan’s apartment.” Her gaze never left his as she pointed toward the garage.
“He never mentioned subletting. When did you talk to him about moving in?”
“I didn’t. I talked to his sister. Megan said Alan would be away for the next six weeks and that you probably wouldn’t mind if I took the place for, uh…“ She stopped to lick a drop of water from her lips.
He felt his stern expression dissolving as his gaze riveted to where she was pressing her tongue. The tip glistened warm and pink in the late-afternoon light before she drew it slowly into her mouth again. The guileless gesture caught him off guard, causing a distinct stirring in the region of his groin. Her bare shoulders, high cheekbones and slicked-back hair, against that background of blue water, reminded him of a travel poster he’d seen for Tahiti. But this was November in New Jersey. Instead of orchids, the water around his lovely, but foolhardy, intruder was decorated with ripples from the wind. None of that mattered; she was easily the most exotic creature he’d ever seen.
“You were saying, Miss…?” he asked as he watched the water lapping against her shoulders. When he heard his monotoned voice he knew he should be pulling himself out of the sensual haze he’d wandered into, but the struggle just didn’t seem worth it. The movement of that bright blue water against her lightly tanned shoulders was drawing him back to the scene a few minutes ago when water was splashing against her bottom. That firm yet lush posterior that set off bells inside his head. And a need to pull at the knot in his tie as the scene settled into his consciousness. He dragged a finger across his mouth to hide his dry swallow, then shoved both hands in his pockets.
Resting against the pool wall, the woman positioned her chin on her stacked fists on the inside edge. “Tsk, tsk. I can’t believe, after all we went through, that you would forget me so easily.”
He narrowed his eyes as he fought back a wave of uneasiness. Although he’d never gone long without the touch of a woman, he wasn’t one to indulge in lost weekends with them, either, so that possibility was out. But somewhere in time they’d shared an emotional moment or two. He rolled his eyes at her killer grin. When she turned it full force on him, suddenly it was the only thing he could think about. That and the relentless way she kept staring at him. She was a stubborn one all right. Flexing his knees, he frowned. Stubborn? Where had that stray thought come from? If he had to describe her he’d use words like charming. Delightful. Desirable. Mysterious. Definitely mysterious. No, he didn’t remember her but he sure as hell would like to.
Shrugging, he gave her a help-me-out-here scowl. “I’m trying.”
“Well, try harder…Mr. Hanlon,” she said, raising her chin in a half-challenging, half-amused move.
He had to hand it to her. Most people would not have put up with his brusque manner, but she appeared to be feasting on it. Whoever she was, she had confidence to spare. And a directness that suggested the teasing light in her eyes wasn’t simply a manifestation of her good humor.
“Let’s see,” he said, as the playful moment resonated with erotic overtones. “Would this memory I’m attempting to retrieve involve clothing?”
Her unrestrained laughter had him smiling.
“It’s my hair.”
He squinted. He was more confused than ever. He would have sworn “it” was her bottom. He had the distinct feeling he’d seen that flawless, neatly rounded, slim-hipped backside before. Or maybe he’d only imagined a tush as perfect as hers, but he wouldn’t bet his tenure on it. “Your hair?” He shook his head. “I don’t think it’s your hair.”
She reached to pull a few wet locks upward off her forehead. “I used to have it blond and spiked up on top.”
Blond. Spiked on top. Raleigh looked at her hair and then her face. He drew in half a breath through his parted lips before the haze cleared and the earth shuddered to a stop. Cold prickles tumbled down his back. He slowly pulled his hands from his pockets. No. She couldn’t be. He closed his eyes then dragged his hands over his face before he looked at her again. There it was, that wide-eyed, too-innocent smile. Air rushed from his lungs in a tortured groan.
The hair was different, the voice a little deeper, but her eyes hadn’t changed. Big, blue and deceptively innocent…until it appeared she would never blink them. But back then he’d made it his business to make her blink. Those thickly fringed, brazen blue eyes that had challenged his sanity more times than he could count, belonged to the bane of his high school teaching career. So what if ten years had passed…he’d just been ogling one of his students. And not just any student! “Rebecca Barnett.”
Her laughter shot through him like a well-aimed tickle, charging along nerve endings and into places it had no business going. It took effort not to smile at her genuine delight, but he was a master at disguising his emotions. Unfortunately he couldn’t do anything about the unbidden and entirely unwelcomed thrill coursing through him.
Who knew where she could have taken this moment, if he hadn’t figured out who she was? Lord help him. Who knew where he would have allowed, or worse, encouraged her to take it? He swallowed hard as several interesting possibilities burgeoned into his consciousness. Heat continued building in his groin, testing the limits of his well-practiced composure. How long had it been since he’d indulged himself with ideas as wild as those?
Irritation suddenly got the better of him. Smoothing his palms along his thighs, he felt his nostrils flare.
“Still the same old games, Miss Barnett?” he asked, knowing full well that no matter what had just transpired, there had never been a hint of flirtation in their dealings as teacher and student.
Her laughter dissolved to a stunned look that grabbed at his gut. The playful light drained from her eyes and with it the easiness she’d brought to the encounter. He deserved a swift kick for that stupid remark.
“You know, you could have slipped on the diving board or hit your head on the bottom,” he said, softening his tone as he lowered himself to his haunches. He laced his fingers together then let his hands dangle by the juncture of his thighs while he waited for her response.
Whether it was a wayward moment of guilt or the beginning step in a slow waltz of seduction, her gaze dropped to his wing tip shoes before traveling slowly to his mouth and then his eyes. She looked at him so long he began to think he was the one in danger of drowning.
“Christmas is coming. Where’s your holiday spirit?” she asked, breaking the stare as she plowed more hair from her forehead.
The action caused a generous portion of her breasts to rise out of the water. He caught sight of the tight and tempting twin rosettes of flesh before she repositioned her body against the wall of the pool. Too late; he was already remembering the pale expanse of her belly, the dark thatch below and the sensations they’d caused in him.
He rubbed at his brow with his thumbnail as he tried to locate one cell in his body that wasn’t being affected by her. Although Rebecca Barnett had never been easy to reason with in her high school days, at least she hadn’t complicated their exchanges with enough sexual sparks to blow up the high school. Pursing his lips in a thoughtful manner, he drew on his dominant role as teacher.
“If I remember correctly, you usually pulled these stunts with a few friends in tow.”
Twisting on the balls of his feet, he looked toward the gate, more to keep his gaze from tracing her delicate collarbone and the soft swells beneath it than to search for anyone else.
“So tell me, Miss Barnett, are we to expect another naked swimmer here anytime soon?”
From the corner of his eye he detected a slight change in her posture, a definite reangling of her chin and, finally, a lowering sweep of her lashes. His heart sank with the knowledge that he’d set something off inside her. A move he was sure he was going to regret.
In a voice thick with smoke and honey, she purred, “Not unless you’re volunteering, Mr. Hanlon.”
His gaze shot straight to hers. Everything he’d been trying not to think about poured into his mind and spilled over into his body. The moment hung hot and heavy between them until she had the grace to look away first. She scratched at the side of her nose.
“Oops. Am I getting detention for that one?”
Bracing his hands on his knees, he stood up. “Not this week,” he said, going along with the joke because there was no way he couldn’t.
The days were long gone when he could deal with her mischief by banishing her to detention. So were the days when he viewed her as a pretty, pain-in-the-butt teenager, a rebellious spirit who provoked him and the rest of the high school faculty as often as she could. Her selfconfidence remained, though, tempered by ten years of experiences he couldn’t begin to guess at. Except that those ten years had closed a gap between student and teacher. He went for her towel then took it to the side ladder.
“Am I getting evicted?” she asked, her body still hugging the wall as she pulled herself along the edge toward the ladder.
He draped the towel over the curved rail then turned to look at her.
“Not yet,” he said in the threateningly quiet tone he used with his college students. Professorial intimidation usually put a stop to any of their shenanigans, but Rebecca Barnett’s next teasing question told him, she wasn’t buying it.
“Am I getting to you, Mr. Hanlon?”
He stepped closer to the edge. “Miss Barnett,” he said, hoping to sound as dismissive as possible. “I assume by the looks of things that this mischief is a oneshot deal.”
“Unless you’ve got a pool heater, I—”
“I don’t,” he said, leaning forward and planting his hands on his knees, this time to bring his face closer to hers. “The game’s over. Let’s call this a draw. Your lips are turning blue.”
She pressed her collarbone closer to the wall and rolled her eyes. “That’s not all that’s turning blue,” she said, before scrinching up her mouth in an exaggerated frown.
He looked away, not daring to allow his stare to stray to those buttocks he’d been admiring a few minutes ago.
“To answer your original question, I’m back in town early because I’m having a faculty get-together tonight. If you’re planning to stay down here much longer I would appreciate it if you didn’t walk by my windows naked on your way upstairs.”
She batted her lashes at him. “Why is that?”
“Because…Dean Callahan has a heart condition.” He turned to go, hoping to make a swift and decisive exit before he made a complete fool of himself. Not too fast, not too slow. A normal pace, as if he were leaving his lecture hall. Then he heard the rush of disturbed water and pictured her climbing out of the pool. The five remaining steps up to the gate turned into the longest walk of his life.
“Mr. Hanlon. Wait up.”
“We can finish this conversation later.” As his hand closed over the gate handle, he heard her bare feet slapping against cement. “Don’t run!” Or I might have to look at you completely naked. No pool wall, no distortion from the water. Just perfectly and lusciously naked. Naked enough to blow my plan to treat you like the rebellious seventeen-year-old student you insist on playing.
A sigh of relief rushed from him a split second after she came into view. She’d managed to wrap the towel around her and was tucking a corner between her breasts.
“Yes, Miss Barnett?” he asked, watching her swipe water from her chin with the backs of her fingers.
“How’s your heart, Mr. Hanlon?”
Her clever response reminded him of the way she’d always loved getting in the last word. Brava. Slipping his hands in his trouser pockets, he nodded with a deceptively polite smile.
“Same condition it was in when we last spoke. Colder than ever, Miss Barnett.”
Now was the moment for making his getaway, but her plucky attitude compelled him to wait for the inevitable comeback.
“I’ve…ch-changed,” she said as an impish grin teased at her lips.
Or was that a muscle twitch brought on by the cold?
He had all he could do not to reach out and give her arms a brisk rub. Knowing that wasn’t the whole truth, he allowed his gaze to slide slowly down her body to the fine gold chain encircling her ankle. For some off-thewall reason he couldn’t fathom, the simple piece of jewelry inspired him to wonder how she would respond if he pulled her hard against him and kissed her until her lips were pink and swollen. If he gave himself half a chance he’d be putting the teacher/student taboo in the same place she obviously had. Ten years in the past. But he didn’t believe in taking chances, even half of one.
“Here,” he said, removing his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “If you insist on prolonging this conversation,” he said sternly, “I don’t want you keeling over from hypothermia.”
As he turned up the collar, she hunched her shoulders and pressed her cheek to it. His thumb brushed her mouth at the same time she exhaled a soft “ahh.” The sound, coupled with the feel of her cool lips and puff of warm air, effectively bolted him to the flagstones beneath his feet.
Her eyelids drifted shut.
His lips parted.
“That feels so good,” she said, luxuriating in the body heat clinging to the lining.
His body heat. His jacket. Her body. She was pushing buttons and jiggling toggle switches he didn’t know he possessed until that second.
She flexed her knees and the subtle move made him think about her hips. He pictured the sleek curves, along with the rest of her body, brushing against the coat lining. The blatantly sensuous movement had him aching to pull her close and move with her. But he wasn’t going to. No matter that he had his hands on a nearly naked woman with an arousingly sensual nature, he had distance to keep along with his sanity. He looked down at her rosy cheeks, her moist lips and the way her lashes clumped together to make little points. As the wind rustled the branches of a nearby holly tree, he reminded himself to breathe while he figured out what not to do next.
She wriggled closer. Or was he pulling her closer? Her eyes opened, locking with his gaze instantly. Unlike his heartbeat, her lashes had stopped fluttering.
“Mr. Hanlon,” she whispered.
“Yes, Miss Barnett?”
“I—I’m not your student anymore and I—”
“I’m beginning to realize that,” he said, taking in the treasures of her face.
She moistened her lips with a quick lick, leaving them wet, ready and quivering. He slid his thumbs down the lapels and took a step closer.
“Your point being…?” he asked, his voice a husky drawl he hardly recognized as his own.
“I’ll be right across the driveway from you. And you’ll be…right across the driveway from me…”
He raised his eyebrows, urging her to continue with the simple but promising scenario.
“I’ll be here through the holidays and the class reunion. And I was wondering if we—”
He let go of the lapels and stepped back. She was in town for her class reunion? What the hell was he doing! Counting and recounting the five freckles across her nose? Memorizing the little hum her body made when she sighed? Wondering who put that ankle bracelet above those pretty pink enameled toenails of hers? “The reunion. Of course. I see. And you’ll be getting together with some of your old classmates. What is it that you want from me? Permission to throw a party? Maybe look the other way if you want another dip in the pool with your friends?”
She shook her head. “I want you to stop calling me Miss Barnett.”
“You’re married?” he asked, feeling strangely disappointed and relieved in the same moment.
“No,” she said. “I just don’t see the need, after all this time, for us to be so formal.” She glanced down at her scanty attire. “Especially now.”
He didn’t even try to stop his smile. “You want me to call you Rebecca? Is that it?”
She thought for a moment. “No. Call me Reb.”
“Reb? Why that old nickname? Why not Becky?”
Her gaze wandered over his face. “I just want to hear you call me Reb.”
He nodded. “Short for rebel, wasn’t it?”
Her shivers had stopped and her lips were curving into a quirky, lopsided smile that made his heart thump. “I think there’ll always be a part of me that is,” she said, hitching up her towel. “But just a little part…Raleigh.”
“Raleigh?” He nodded as he spotted her gate key sitting on top of a security lamp. Handing it to her, he began working his own key out of the gate lock. “I’d prefer that over my old nickname.”
“Old nickname?” she asked.
“You know, Reb, the one you stuck me with.”
Her brows shot up in feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Show-No-Mercy Hanlon. You painted it on the wall in the teachers’ lounge. In big green letters, as I recall.”
“It wasn’t in green, it was in red.” A second later she was slapping a hand over her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut.
When more of his own memories about that incident began rushing in, he headed out of the gate and across the crushed stone drive.
“Mr. Han—I mean, Raleigh. Ouch! Wait!” she called as she hurried after him.
Turning to face her, he cleared his throat at the improbable sight before him. She was holding the jacket closed with one hand and gesturing with the other as she made her way across the stones. Her torturous progress resembled a sexy new dance step. The faster she moved the higher the hem of the jacket rose, exposing a widening line of terry cloth.
“I’m listening.” And looking. Lord, how I’m looking.
Stopping abruptly, she attempted a wobbly balance as she jammed her free hand to her hip. Any hair that wasn’t clinging to her head was framing her wincing expression in peaked, curvy locks.
“What made you think it was me who painted thatthat name on the wall?” she asked, her tone both disbelieving and demanding. “We all wore ski masks that morning.”
“You mean other than that you just confirmed it?” he asked, as he watched her towel begin sliding from beneath his jacket.
“Yes, of course, other than that,” she said, gesturing emphatically, then frantically grabbing for the red terry cloth.
Too late, Raleigh thought, as the towel slid to her ankles over the most beautiful legs and backside he’d ever seen. “You mooned me then, too.”
Two (#ulink_6c009d7f-958b-5ce4-bf5e-dc98322200b1)
Twenty minutes later Rebecca Barnett pushed open the door to the Chocolate Chip Café. Her gaze swept the interior of Follett River’s favorite college coffee house, before zeroing in on the busy blonde behind the counter. Just the person she came to see, Reb thought as she made her way through the sea of tables to the counter. Moving one of the tall chairs aside, she pressed her hands on the faux marble surface and leaned toward her friend on the other side.
“Raleigh Hanlon’s back in town.”
Megan Sloan scooped a dollop of frosting from the bowl next to the three-layer cake on the counter. As the pretty young widow carefully spread the liqueur-scented mixture over the top, she raised her brows.
“Surprised you, did he?”
“You could say that,” Rebecca said, sliding onto a cane-back chair as she shoved both sets of fingers through her damp hair.
“Reb, I tried calling you earlier to tell you, but I guess you haven’t hooked up your answering machine yet. Aren’t you concerned you’ll miss your business calls?” Megan asked as she swirled the spatula through the frosting.
“New Horizon Tours’ Miami office is more than capable of taking care of itself. That’s why I’m thinking about opening a branch up here.”
Megan Sloan checked the depth of frosting on the sides of the cake before finally looking up at her friend. Her green eyes widened. “Reb! Your hair!” she said, dropping the spatula into the bowl, then reaching for her friend’s hands. “What have you been up to?”
“Do you want the whole story or just the good parts?”
“The whole story, of course,” she said glancing at her watch. “And I bet it’s a Barnett classic, but unfortunately I barely have time for the good parts. Piece Of Cake got a last-minute catering job that I couldn’t pass up. So…?”
Nodding, Rebecca looked around to make certain no one was within earshot. No use blowing her new-andimproved image in front of a roomful of strangers, too. “I went skinny-dipping in Raleigh Hanlon’s pool…and he caught me.”
Megan choked back a scream. “Oh, Reb,” she said, pulling napkins from a dispenser then shoving them against her mouth. When her fit of laughter slowed, she dabbed at her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so glad you came back to Follett River. Things have been darn dull since you left.”
“Dull?” she asked, coming off the chair. “How could they possibly be dull with Raleigh Hanlon around?”
“Come on, it’s been ten years since you two bad those go-arounds. He’s not so bad. Maybe a tad grumpy at times for someone in his thirties, but honestly—”
“I’m not talking about his grumpy side. I’m talking about his, well…” Her words trailed off as she pictured the way he looked at her as he wrapped her in his jacket. When he pulled the wool tweed collar against her cheek the sensation was surprisingly pleasant. A slow smile lifted one side of her mouth. And for a moment, there, so were you, Raleigh Hanlon.
“Yes? His…?” Megan urged as she began sprinkling chopped hazelnuts over the cake.
“Never mind,” she said, easing her rear onto the seat again. The very rear she’d exposed to him on at least two different occasions. She took a deep breath then slowly exhaled at that last thought. “What’s he been doing for the past ten years?”
Megan kinked a brow. “Why this interest in your least favorite teacher all of a sudden?”
Rebecca picked up a few pieces of chopped hazelnuts with the pads of her fingers. “No reason,” she said before licking her fingertips and shrugging. “He’s my landlord. That’s all.”
“You never could lie to me,” her friend said in a singsong fashion.
“Meggie, give me a break here,” she said, dropping her shoulders. “For old times’ sake, just answer the question.”
“I’ve already told you. He’s a history professor at Follett College now. He’s working on his second book about ancient civilizations. I think this one’s about the Incas.”
“Megan Sloan,” Reb said in a tone reserved for misbehaving pets, bad drivers and best friends who weren’t getting the message. “I meant his private life.”
Megan reached for a container of chocolate-dipped hazelnuts and began circling the top of the cake with them. “You know he’s from over in Daleville. Well, about nineteen years ago his brother got a girl pregnant, then died before he could marry her. Mr. Hanlon’s been helping them out over the years. This niece, her name’s Penny, is all he has left since both his parents are dead. Lately Penny has been giving her mother fits.”
Rebecca tapped her nails on the faux marble as her friend went on about the girl’s troublesome adolescence.
“Megan, I know all about how difficult teenagers can be. I believe I was the poster child for that particular condition five years in a row. What I want to know about is his private private life.”
Setting aside the container, Megan rested her elbows on the counter and dropped her chin into the cups of her hands.
“Reb Barnett, what scandalous vengeance are you planning to wreak on poor old Professor Hanlon now?”
“Old? He’s not old, he’s—” What was she defending him for? He’d left her standing in his driveway with her hard-won image of a mature woman, not to mention a bath towel, around her ankles. None of her reactions had made any sense then, and they weren’t making any more sense now.
“Meggie,” she said quietly, rubbing her temples, “I’m trying to sort out a few things.”
“What things?”
“I don’t know. He looked at me in an odd way.”
“Gee, you don’t think that had anything to do with him discovering you swimming naked in his pool, do you?”
Staring at the packages of gourmet coffees behind her friend, Rebecca absently ran her tongue over the edges of her teeth. “I think that was part of it.”
Megan pushed up from the counter. “You’re not joking, are you? Something’s going on between you two, isn’t it?”
Her friend’s last question sounded like an indisputable fact and a disturbing one at that. The idea of being attracted to her former teacher was still an outrageous one to her, too. Opening her hands and raising them palms up, she gave an exaggerated shrug. “Nothing is going on. I just saw the man for the first time in ten years and…”
“Sounds to me as if you just saw the man for the first time. What are you planning in that deliciously devious mind of yours?”
Rebecca gave a quick look around at the young college crowd hunched over their cappuccinos and caffé lattes before turning back to Megan. Scissoring her hands over the cake, she announced, “I have never thought of him in that way.”
“Well, thank goodness for that,” Megan said, in a deceptively demure voice. Lifting the cake, she placed the holiday dessert into a prefolded box then winked at her friend. “Because knowing you, you could have gotten him arrested.”
“Very funny,” she said, helping with the flapping box top. “I hope you don’t think I’m thinking of him in that way today…” The sound of her own nervous laughter made her wince. “I mean…that’s so…”
“Ah, Reb, you used to be so articulate when it came to Mr. Hanlon. Now you can’t seem to put together a complete sentence about the guy.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “Did I mention he’s divorced?”
“Divorced?” Reb repeated, unable to ignore how instantly hungry she was for more information. And how suddenly hesitant she was to ask for it.
“Four years ago, so I think we can safely say she’s out of the picture. But imagine what his wife would have said if she’d found you naked in—”
“Dear Lord, I never considered the possibility that he could be married,” she whispered.
“Really? Well, the important thing now is to think of him as available.”
Available? The idea that she would be romantically interested in Show-No-Mercy Hanlon wasn’t even funny. It was crazy.
“I swear, Meggie, that skinny-dip meant nothing more than a little secret revenge for all he put me through ten years ago. Now that I’ve seen him…now that he’s seen me, all I want to do is prove to him that I’ve changed. That I can handle myself in a mature fashion,” she said, her voice rising as she did from the stool. “That I’m not the self-indulgent, trouble-making heathen he once thought I was. That I’m dependable, presentable and charming as hell,” she said, whacking her hand on the countertop. “What are you smiling about?”
“You’re serious about that?”
“Damn straight,” she said, flicking back an errant lock of hair that had tumbled over her forehead.
“Great. Then you can start demonstrating all those admirable qualities to him tonight.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, kinking one brow.
“Raleigh Hanlon called me from Daleville this morning and asked if Piece Of Cake could cater desserts for a get-together at his place. I guess he’s been so busy with his niece he’d forgotten he’d agreed to host the faculty’s first holiday party. You’d be helping me out if you’d take this job. You see, I have umpteen calls to make for the reunion committee and I’d already promised Paige I’d teach her Chickadee group how to make pine cone Santas tonight.”
“Wait, wait, wait. You want me to serve cake to a bunch of professors?” Rebecca asked, picturing her usually glib tongue tied in self-conscious knots. The thought of so many graduate degrees under one roof was beyond intimidating when she thought of the simple high school diploma she almost didn’t receive.
“You’ll have the undying gratitude of my five-yearold.”
“Guilt can move mountains, Megan, but I don’t know…”
“Reb, just think, you’ll have the opportunity to impress Raleigh Hanlon…with all your clothes on this time.”
An hour later Rebecca stood at Raleigh Hanlon’s back door with his jacket around her shoulders. She was hugging a huge poinsettia plant to one hip and holding a shopping bag in her left hand. With her right she tinkered with the black bow tie her friend insisted had to be worn with the official Piece Of Cake caterer’s uniform. The slender grosgrain ribbon wrapping primly around the starched stand-up collar of the pleated tuxedo shirt was the last thing Raleigh Hanlon would expect to see her wearing. She looked down at the rest of the uniform. The red plaid cummerbund and black, pleated trousers actually looked kind of cute. Cute? She winced. She was about to walk into Show-No-Mercy Hanlon’s house looking cute. “Reb Barnett,” she whispered, as she knocked on the door a second time, “if the old gang could see you now.”
A second later the door opened and, without looking up, Raleigh was waving her in. He was speaking with considerable emotion into the telephone wedged between his shoulder and chin.
Rebecca remained on the doorstep taking in the details of the man who was totally absorbed in his conversation. His burgundy-and-blue tattersall shirt was rolled up at both wrists, exposing his Swiss Army watch and his handsomely muscled forearms. Unlike her miniature bow tie, his long navy blue one draped either side of his unbuttoned shirt framing a healthy amount of dark, crinkly chest hair. As if to counterpoint the vibrant signs of his masculinity, a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses were perched near the end of his nose. Biting back a smile, she thought about what fun she could have had with those glasses ten years ago.
“I can’t agree with you more, sweetheart,” he said as he glanced at the paper in his hands. “But, Penny, I don’t think your mother’s being unfair about your curfew. I—don’t hang up, young lady. Damn—!” He clicked off the phone and placed it firmly on the wall hook.
“Megan, I’m glad you’re here—” His harried expression changed to a blank one the moment he saw who it was. Hesitating, he strained for a look over Rebecca’s shoulder before refocusing on her uniform. “Is this one of your practical jokes?”
Jokes! Maybe this wasn’t her leather miniskirt and combat boots from ten years ago, but she wasn’t naked, either. Brushing back a lock of hair from her forehead, she swallowed hard and reminded herself that she was here to demonstrate the new and improved Rebecca Barnett. Nothing he could say would cause her to become unglued. Her gaze dropped to the opening of his shirt. As for that hairy chest of his…that might take considerably more restraint than she’d prepared for.
“I volunteered for this job when I found out Megan had made plans with her daughter,” she said, aware that that wasn’t exactly how she came to be standing on his doorstep. Lowering her gaze further down the front of him, she felt it melt into a genuine stare when she got to the dark whorl of hair above his navel. Blinking her way out of the hypnotizing sight, she made herself look at his face again. “I had to come back across town, anyway.”
Resting a fist on his hip, he lowered his chin to deliver a challenging stare over his reading glasses. “Is that so?”
She tapped her nails against the red-foiled flowerpot and narrowed her eyes. Her voice was suddenly stronger. “I live here. Remember?”
“And you’re working for Megan Sloan now?”
There it was again: that skeptical edge to his voice that said he wasn’t sure about any of this. That maybe there was more she wasn’t telling. And perhaps a trip to the principal’s office might be in order.
With a long-suffering sigh, she answered him. “Just for tonight. And you can stop sounding so concerned. I haven’t pebbled the cookies.”
He waited five thoughtful seconds before he appeared to succumb to the inevitable. Folding the sheet of paper he’d been holding, Raleigh slid it in his shirt pocket. The action managed to tug his shirt sideways, exposing a flat, dark nipple surrounded by another whorl of dark hair.
“Of course you haven’t pebbled the cookies, but Megan knows exactly how I like these things done. Not too formal—”
“She explained everything to me. So if you’ll get those desserts and the containers from the van,” she said, whipping his jacket from her shoulders and shoving it against his naked midsection, “I’ll get started.”
Closing a hand over the bunched tweed, he gave her a stiff nod. “Dining room’s through that door over there.”
Even though she’d managed to cover the tempting sight of his well-muscled, hair-roughened chest and abdomen, achy heat was already pooling between her thighs. Making an effort to appear unfazed, she breezed by him into the dining room.
“You are not going to get to me, Hanlon,” she murmured to herself as she plunked the poinsettia on the credenza and pulled a tablecloth out of the shopping bag. Giving the rectangle of white damask a snapping shake, she spread it over the table, then began smoothing it into place. “So what if you happen to have mankind’s most gorgeous chest and nipples that make my fingers itch? The idea of you and me ever…it’s…just impossible,” she said to herself in an angry whisper.
But as she kept picturing his exposed chest, her efficient moves to straighten the cloth slowed then stopped. Tilting her head, she stared at the white-on-white design in the tablecloth. The soft, lustrous swirls reminded her of the patterns in his chest hair. Tracing one swirl and then another with the pads of her thumbs, she began imagining the rougher texture of his hair, the heat of his skin below and the steady thumps of his heartbeat. When she realized she was holding her breath, she drummed both sets of fingers against the cloth and shook her head. She really had to start dating again now that her tour business was doing so well. Pushing up from the table, she reached for the potted red flowers and plunked them on the center.
With more determined effort, she went looking for dessert plates. While she was kneeling beside the opened credenza door, Raleigh came into the room.
“I put everything but this in the kitchen,” he said over the cake box. “Finding everything you need in there?”
“I think so,” she said, stopping to watch him settle a cake box on the table. In an unguarded moment he lifted the lid and leaned down for a quick sniff. Closing his eyes, he took a longer one. His obvious pleasure mesmerized her, then quickly made her blink. Of course, everyone had a sensual side, she’d just never thought about him having one.
Biting back a smile, she reached inside the credenza. “Megan said the dessert plates are supposed to be in here, but all I keep pulling out are these old photo albums.”
Raleigh dropped the lid over the cake, then quickly kneeled beside her. “I’ll take those,” he said, removing them from her grasp and setting them out of her reach.
Before she had time to lower her hands, he was ducking his head near her lap to peer inside the credenza. Her heart skipped a beat and then another. Minutes ago she wasn’t sure he was going to allow her into his house; now he’d positioned his face inches from the most intimate part of her anatomy. His clean male scent, mixed with his light, woodsy after-shave only added to the stunning immediacy of the moment. She held her breath as visions of them tangled together on the floor moved through her mind. In this position it would be so easy to sink her fingers into his hair and…
“Here we go.” Pushing aside a soup tureen, he pulled out two stacks of gold-rimmed, red dishes. “Twenty ought to do it.” Moving back on his heels, he set the dessert plates on top of the furniture then stood up.
“Well, thank you,” she said, forcing herself to stare at the albums on the floor while she waited for her heart to reestablish a normal rhythm. Before that medical miracle had time to happen he took her hands, still raised in midair above her thighs, and pulled her to her feet.
When he held on a few seconds longer than necessary, the courteous act began snowballing into something altogether different. She tried telling herself it was the casual way his unknotted tie slid over her hands that gave the moment its intimate feel. The sensation of fine quality wool on her skin reminded her of a caress. Gentle. Masculine. And, because it had been ages since she’d had a lover, leaving her wanting more. She looked up as he looked away.
“My cleaning lady stored those albums in there by mistake,” he said, still inexplicably holding on to her hands.
The oxygen in her body seemed to be disappearing-probably feeding those sparks zipping up her arms, through her heart, into her stomach and then, heaven help her, even lower. He looked back at her as she parted her lips to draw in an extra breath.
“Are you all right?” he asked, letting go of her hands to place his around her elbows.
“I’m fine…just stood up too fast,” she said, fighting the compelling desire to lean her cheek against his chest and her forehead against that tuft of hair where he still hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt!
“Back to work,” she announced, reaching for the first stack of plates with shaky hands. Why wasn’t he saying something? Or moving away? Or taking her in his arms and kissing her silly? She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she losing her mind? What had gotten into her? Tonight was her opportunity to show him she’d changed.
“Yes, back to work,” he finally said, as he leaned down to pick up the photo albums from the floor. “I have more notes to go over before people start arriving.”
“Don’t let me bother you.” She kept her eyes on the gold circle rimming the red plate in her hand as he walked into his library.
For the next twenty minutes she kept herself busy by folding napkins, preparing coffee, mixing the cranberry punch, setting out the dessert buffet and pretending that what she’d felt when he’d been so close was nothing more than a fluky moment of hormonal insanity.
After setting a pitcher of milk on the table next to a matching sugar bowl, she glanced across the hall into the library where Raleigh paced before the fire. He’d put on music, a Bach concerto, if she wasn’t mistaken. As he read through his paper, she found herself pressing her hand to her midsection. If what she’d felt was nothing more than one fluky moment of hormonal insanity, why were her hands still tingling? Her throat still dry? And that disturbing heat still pooling where it shouldn’t be? After all these years what was it about him that she suddenly found so compelling?
She walked across the carpeted hall to the open pocket doors of the library. Without a doubt he was an attractive man. Standing well over six feet, he was broad shouldered, classically handsome and, unlike most indoor career types, sporting a healthy tan. His thick, dark hair threatened to spill over his forehead in a little-boy tousle of loose curls.
As he braced a hand on the mantel and worried over his paper, she folded her arms, leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb and quietly sighed. Who the heck was she kidding? Raleigh Hanlon was the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. And there he was, in his leather-bound, gold-stamped library, so absorbed in his professorial studies that he didn’t even sense her presence.
Angling her head into the room, she strained to take in his floor-to-ceiling, book-lined shelves, his leather wing chair with the worn spot where he rested his head, and his framed degrees and certificates filling half a wall. Masculinely appointed, impressively erudite and with a tried-and-true sense of permanency, the room appeared to be a perfect representation of the man standing in it. And just as awesome to her.
She nibbled on her lip as that unwelcome sense of inadequacy sent a cold tentacle to her stomach. Before the feeling took a stronger hold, she stood up and lifted her chin. Even if her poor high school performance had kept her out of college, over the last ten years, through hard work and pure determination, she had managed to achieve just about everything else she’d wanted in her life. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
“I set aside a piece of cake for you,” she impulsively announced.
Against the Bach playing in the background, her voice sounded like a carnival barker’s. She was certain Raleigh thought the same when he removed his glasses and looked up at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Or maybe that look was meant for something else? Had she splashed the cranberry punch on her clothes? Had they fallen off? What was wrong?
The crackling flames in the fireplace were the only sounds she heard above her pounding heartbeat. And then he smiled. That funny, forgiving kind of smile that said everything was all right. The kind of smile she’d never seen on Show-No-Mercy Hanlon.
“Which cake?” he asked.
“The one you were sniffing,” she said, relaxing enough to notice his shirt was finally buttoned and his tie knotted. “The hazelnut with the Frangelico frosting.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “You don’t miss much.”
She smiled back as she let her gaze wander the room again. This time the place didn’t feel as threatening. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your Christmas tree? The ceramic angels on the mantel? The candles in the windows?” Pointing upward she added, “The mistletoe? Megan said this was the first holiday party of the season, but it’s hard to tell you’ve looked at the calendar.”
He looked around before giving her a halfhearted scowl. “Isn’t that poinsettia enough?”
She scowled back. “No,” she said and they both laughed. As the sound died he kept on looking at her. When she didn’t say anything, he slid on his reading glasses and lifted up his paper.
“That must be some interesting paper,” she said, grasping at the mundane comment because she was already missing the moment they’d shared.
He brushed a piece of lint from the top of his pant leg then looked at her again. “I’m sure you wouldn’t find it very interesting.”
She forced a smile to cover the raw sting of his words. Was it so obvious to him that she hadn’t furthered her formal education? “Maybe I would. Try me.”
“Have you studied the history of the Incas?”
“Well, not formally,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair. Why were her palms sweating? He wasn’t giving her a test on the subject, but if he were, she would probably pass the darn thing with flying colors.
“Not formally?” he repeated, motioning for her to come in and take the chair by the fire. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve read a bit on my own,” she said, wondering if she should tell him how many hours she’d studied preColumbian history before leading a tour group through the ruins at Machu Picchu and the archaeological dig site on the northwest coast of Peru. The last thing she wanted to do was sound as if she were bragging, or worse, defending herself.
Raleigh raised a brow as he watched her enter the room. “Amazing. When you were my student I practically had to glue a history book in your hands in order to get you to read it.”
“That’s a good ten years in the past.”
Slowing her steps and her words, she stopped at the sofa table. As she reached down to it, Raleigh remembered what he’d left there. The yearbook of her graduating class was lying wide open to the page with her photo.
Her gaze, accompanied by a slow grin, darted up to him then back down again. “But I guess history professors have been known to spend a little time poking around in the past.”
As she picked up the book, he turned away to check his watch. Fifteen minutes to eight. If he hadn’t spent time poring over Rebecca’s yearbook this afternoon he would have finished his work, he thought, going to his desk and dropping the paper into a drawer. But he had looked at the yearbook, and the rest of his day had been filled with thoughts about her. Thoughts leading to questions. Crazy questions that kept on coming when he pictured her naked in the pool, then standing beside him in that towel.
He looked over at her now, quietly smiling as she thumbed through the pages. She looked so…grown-up. He snorted softly. Maybe she was, but that didn’t stop the questions he’d been thinking about all afternoon.
What in hell made you pull those crazy stunts in high school? Was I too hard on you? Wasn’t I hard enough? How many hearts have you broken? What’s happened to you since then? hat’s happened to me? And when did you turn into such a beautiful woman?
“Raleigh, why did you have this opened to my—?” she began at the same moment the doorbell rang.
He looked at her expectant expression as the doorbell sounded again, along with the telephone. The outward composure he’d been perfecting for the past eighteen years clicked into place.
“Would you mind getting the door and showing whoever it is into the library?” he asked, as he walked past her into the dining room. Picking up the plate of sliced cake she’d left for him, he added, “I’ll take the phone in the kitchen.”
Five minutes later Raleigh hung up. As Penny had railed on with her latest litany of teenage complaints, he’d found that his thoughts had kept wandering back to Rebecca. She’d been Penny’s age when she was his student. He shook his head. Penny’s age, for godsake.
Taking his jacket from where he’d tossed it, he remembered the way Rebecca had looked in it. Even though the salt-and-pepper tweed was sizes too big for her, he couldn’t say she looked exactly childlike wearing it that afternoon. And when she’d bent down to catch her towel…The distinct tugging sensation in his manhood had him swallowing dry. He quickly shrugged on the jacket then straightened his tie. He had guests waiting.
Picking up the cake she’d sliced for him, he dragged two fingers through the frosting, then plunged them into his mouth to lick them clean. Laughing at himself for the outlandish thoughts he’d been having about Rebecca, he lifted the whole slice from the plate and took a bite.
She’d once been capable of getting under his skin, but that was strictly sophomoric and a long time ago. She wouldn’t be doing that again; he wouldn’t let her. Shoving another bite into his mouth, he closed his eyes and savored the delicate flavor. Hell, he must have been crazy there for a few hours. He was years older than Rebecca, and, just as important, she was years younger than him. Coupled with their history, anything remotely…adult was laughable.
As he reached to open the dining room door, Rebecca opened it from the other side. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was slightly mussed and her high spirits a nearly tangible force. The beguiling sight almost made him forget his reassessment.
“Who rang the bell?” he asked, as she quickly closed the door behind her then leaned against it.
“Dean Callahan,” she said, before covering her mouth to stop a burst of laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
She pressed her hands against her bright plaid cummerbund and leaned forward to catch her breath. “Oh, Raleigh, I always thought professors were so stuffy, but that one’s not. He wouldn’t stop asking me questions about myself. I tried to explain that I was only here catering your desserts and he said, ‘Well, I never heard it referred to as that before.” ‘ Shaking her finger at him, she widened her eyes. “Your Dean Callahan is a very naughty man.”
“Naughty?” He smiled at the thought that the whitehaired gentleman could ever be considered naughty.
“Yes. Don’t you get it?” she asked with an exaggerated wink.
“Don’t I get what?” He felt his smile weakening while he silently prayed that the gods were with him tonight and what he was beginning to suspect was way off the mark.
She took a step toward him. “Oh, Raleigh, look at you,” she said, changing subject and tone as she reached up to cup his jawline in her hands. “You have frosting smeared here…and here.” Dabbing at the sides of his mouth with her thumbs, she squinted at him. “Look. Go like this.”
Her helpful gesture almost made it into the casual category until she puckered her lips. His breath caught somewhere north of his chest. Hadn’t he just convinced himself how ridiculous this illogical attraction he had for her was? Hadn’t he told himself to get a grip? And didn’t she have the softest hands and most engaging expressions?
He closed his hand around one of hers causing her fingertips to stray past his lips. Once. Twice. With her breasts brushing his chest, her gentle yet relentless thumb strokes and the liqueur-laced frosting teasing his tongue, he had all he could do not to lick her. Then her thumbnail grazed the underside of his lip, and her kind act began bordering on a kinky one. Taking a step over the line of common sense, he bypassed warm, fuzzy confusion and headed straight for the Pandora’s box of heat and lust. Curving a hand around her waist, he tugged her against his hips. “Rebecca,” he whispered. Then the doorbell rang again and both of them froze.
Crashing back to reality, Raleigh found himself staring into her eyes. He knew his boundaries; he’d set them up a long time ago. “You were saying something about Dean Callahan?” he asked, as he let go and took a step backward.
She gave him a puzzled look that, after a few nervejangling seconds, transformed itself into a focused, knowing smile. “He thinks I’m your latest.”
“Latest what?” he asked as the doorbell rang again. He laughed out loud; this couldn’t be happening. Where was a lesser god when you needed one?
“Lover.” She cocked her head when he didn’t respond. “Did you hear me? I said he thinks we’re lovers.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why aren’t you laughing anymore?”
He started around her. “Miss Barnett, I have to get the door—”
Her arm shot out, effectively blocking his way as she slapped her hand against the door frame. “And whatever happened to you calling me Reb? I thought we’d come so far, but—”
“Obviously, we haven’t,” he said, wondering why the hell he’d allowed her to put her hands on him in the first place.
“We haven’t?” she asked, her head turning and her eyes twinkling with womanly mischief.
From the other side of the door, Dean Callahan called out cheerfully, “I’ll get that.”
“Miss Barnett, that will be all for tonight.”
She opened her mouth to speak.
“Go,” he said, then cocked his chin when she hesitated. As she walked around him and headed for the back door, his gaze tracked her like radar on enemy aircraft. He felt his body quickening to alert status when she paused with her hand on the knob. Looking over her shoulder at him, she made a new and old and needy ache start up in his heart.
“Raleigh?”
“Yes?”
She touched a fingertip to her lips. “You still have some…”
His hand began drifting up toward his mouth before he came to his senses and, instead, pointed at her. “Out! Now!” he said, managing to hold his ground even though the floor beneath him felt like quicksand when she grinned.
“Just like old times…Mr. Hanlon.”
Her voice echoed through him, soft and sexy, sure and seductive. As she closed the door behind her, he slowly pressed his fingers to where hers had been. After a moment he shook his head and headed for the dining room. “Old times were never like this, Rebecca.”
Three (#ulink_d2503d80-8f07-562d-8f37-ed642d1d8c58)
As Raleigh fastened the last spring lock on the pool cover, he took another look toward the garage apartment. Two days had passed since that rub-and-tickle moment with Rebecca, and he was still battling over what to do about her. Ignoring her presence seemed like the most sensible and least bothersome solution, he decided, as he stored the pool equipment in the cabana. After all, how much trouble could one woman cause in a month? He seriously considered giving Rebecca the benefit of the doubt.
And then he came to his senses. She wasn’t just any woman. She was Rebecca Barnett, complete with a shared history and enough sex appeal to melt the leather elbow patches off his tweed jackets. And she was living a few feet across the driveway from him.
Staring up at the apartment again, he came to the conclusion that while she might be able to stay out of trouble, he was the one with the problem. He couldn’t ignore her presence because he couldn’t put those moments with her in his kitchen out of his head.
Wiping his hands on his well-worn jeans, he headed for the gate. There was only one course of action he could take, he decided, as he closed it behind him. Rebecca Barnett would have to find alternative lodging. And as soon as he saw her-” Finally got that pool closed, did you?”
She was sitting on the second-floor landing of the garage steps, a pair of mud-coated sneakers next to her feet. Her rosy cheeks made him think she’d been outside as long as he had, and her smile made him certain she’d been having more fun.
When he didn’t answer her quickly enough, she thumbed up the suede brim of her baseball cap then leaned her elbows on the step behind her. Propping a sock-clad foot over one knee, she stared down at him. The jocklike posturing accentuated the length of her legs, the womanly curves of her hips and, where her athletic jacket fell open, the distinct pearling of her sweater-covered nipples in the cold afternoon breeze.
“Well, closing it’s for the best, I guess.” She shrugged. “Or who knows what I might have been tempted to do next down there.”
Her smile said she was teasing but that didn’t stop the images from coming into his head. Was there such a thing as nude ice-skating? He rubbed at his brow. This had to stop.
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