Heat Wave Read online

  To her surprise he did. But she was glad for the chance to observe him without having to deal with his aggravating, seductive blue eyes.

  His profile was strong, almost stern, and that, coupled with his hard, lean body gave the impression of a man who wouldn’t lightly take no for an answer. But there was that devil that danced in his blue eyes. … His satiny skin glowed with vitality and health. Dark hair curled damply on the nape of his neck and for an instant she remembered what it had felt like to run her fingers through it.

  Shaking her head as if to clear it, she pulled on her panties, then spotted his clothes lying on the ground. Picking up his slacks, she tossed them to the foot of the chaise.

  Too late she realized the clothing would catch his attention. With a plop the slacks landed against his hip. He turned his gaze appraising her slowly, making another hot blush consume her.

  She opened her mouth but before she could speak, he waved his hand. “Don’t say it. I’ll stop looking, but luv, you do have some dreadful hang-ups.”

  “I just have a shred of modesty!” He was beginning to aggravate her again. How could she have succumbed to him? She had collapsed like a house of cards in a windstorm. She found the sundress and slipped it on quickly, relishing the feel of the cool cotton sliding over her damp, heated skin.

  Turning, she drew a sharp breath. Clad only in black hip-hugging briefs and holding his slacks, Cole stood facing her. Moonlight splashed over his hard shoulders, across his chest, highlighting the muscles of his magnificent body. He smiled.

  In that moment she realized how far gone she was. She was in deeper trouble than she had guessed because his smile made her heart ping like a hot motor. “Honey …” He started toward her again. She put up her hand. “Stay right where you are. Cole. Don’t come a step closer.”

  Four

  “Marilee.” His soft murmuring of her name weakened her knees, but it stiffened her resolve to get him out of her life quickly. She wasn’t going to get involved in any sticky affair. She had no desire to experience again the pain she had felt when she’d lost her fiancé. She had a pleasant, productive life and Mr. Cole Chandler wasn’t going to change it. Not at all, nosiree. If only her heart would quit thudding.

  He continued to narrow the distance between them and when he reached her, he rested his hands on her shoulders. His voice became rougher, huskier, sliding over her raw nerves with a sensuousness that was another caress. “Maybe we were both vulnerable tonight.” His hands slipped down her arms and around her waist. “How long, Marilee, since you’ve been loved like that.”

  Standing in his arms in the darkness, she couldn’t answer because never, never had it been like that—so good, so devastating, beyond her control from the start.

  As if he realized the reason for her silence, he said, “Let me rephrase my question. How long, period?”

  She didn’t want to admit to him, yet maybe he would understand better why she had fallen apart so swiftly, succumbed instantly to his seduction.

  It was an effort to whisper simply, “Years.”

  “God! You might as well have taken vows and become a nun. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I rushed you.”

  He sounded contrite. Even so, she didn’t want a temporary sexual relationship. And she didn’t want her heart broken! Besides, there were too many demands from her teaching, her text books. She couldn’t afford to get involved, even for a short time.

  “I told you,” she said, “I can’t handle a casual affair. I’m too old for this sort of thing.”

  He laughed. ‘That’s the most ridiculous statement I’ve ever heard!”

  “Well, if I were twenty, or twenty-two or twenty-five, some age when life is still full of illusions and dreams, I might be interested, but not now.”

  He studied her and said softly, “Anyone who comes tumbling out of the sky in a balloon isn’t too old for dreams.”

  “I am thirty years old and realistic. I don’t like casual sex in spite of what just occurred. That happened this one time only and won’t be repeated.” She was pleased at the firmness in her voice.

  The moonlight revealed his dancing blue eyes. “Thirty is a marvelous age,” he said. “Especially to someone who’s thirty-nine. And tonight wasn’t casual.”

  His words stirred a warmth inside her that threatened to melt her resolve. At the same time it frightened her. She didn’t want an affair to mess up her emotions and the easiest way to resist Cole was to get out of his life quickly. She was far too aware of his almost nude body. It disturbed her, tugged at her attention.

  “Cole, will you dress?”

  He smiled. “Sure thing.” He stepped into the slacks and quickly fastened them. When he finished, she placed her hands on his muscular arms, liking despite herself the feel of his warm skin beneath her palms. “Let’s forget tonight. My future is planned and there’s no room in it for an affair. And I’ve been hurt too badly.”

  “How about a friendship? You’re friends with that Jack.”

  “I don’t think you and I can really settle for just friendship.”

  She started to step away, but his hands quickly clasped her about the waist.

  “Why can’t we settle for friendship?”

  His blue eyes seemed to devour her and she struggled to avoid dropping her gaze to his mouth. She answered honestly, “There’s too strong an attraction between us.”

  She warily held his gaze, watching as crinkles fanned out from the corners of his lids.

  “That’s good. At least you admit it.”

  She loosened his hands from her waist. “I have to get my clothes and I want to take Jack’s balloon home.”

  Cole laughed. “You surely don’t want it deposited on his doorstep. Give me the address where he keeps it.”

  She wondered if he meant what he said. He didn’t seem the type to yield so quickly and easily. Shrugging mentally, she went inside to retrieve her clothing and wrote down Jack’s address before rejoining Cole on the patio. He took her hand, walked her to a three-car garage, and seated her in a sleek, black Thunderbird.

  He backed down the gravel drive and swung the car in a turn, sending a cloud of dust up behind them. As soon as they were headed away from the farmhouse, Cole’s right hand cupped her shoulder.

  “Come here.”

  She hesitated and he pulled her to him. “Come on. Stop debating something simple.” He fitted her against his inviting body.

  It wasn’t simple. Every touch was a brand, a nerve-tingling searing of her flesh. His arm had dropped around her shoulder and his fingers were idly moving back and forth on her forearm.

  While the car sped through the darkness, her mind raced as quickly over her promises to Cole. Deciding to let her friends give him an estimate on painting the house, she said, “When I paint, I work with two teachers, Ted Workman and Grant Smith. Ted’s our choral director and Grant’s the wrestling coach.”

  “There seem to be a lot of men in your life.”

  “They’re just friends. We teach at the same school.”

  His fingers trailed lightly up and down her forearm while she looked across the dark fields. The familiar scent of his aftershave disturbed her senses, tugging at her memory of the last hour. “I should’ve been home typing tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve started my second text. It’s a follow-up to the first one.”

  “Who’s your publisher?” When he talked she could feel the vibrations in his chest as she leaned against him.

  “There’s a company in Wichita. Century Press. I want to finish this second manuscript early in July.”

  “Why the rush? More houses to paint?”

  She glanced up at his profile only inches away. His firm jaw was outlined darkly against the moonlit night. “No, I have to meet a July thirteenth deadline because I’m going on a cruise.” She didn’t add she needed the money from her advance on the text to pay the remainder she owed on the cruise.

>   “Oh? Where’ll you go?”

  “St. Augustine, Barbados, St. Thomas. We’re flying to Miami and leaving from there. I’ve never been on a ship, much less a cruise. I can’t wait,” she said, but for the first time, when she listed her itinerary, it didn’t hold the magic it always had.

  “We—meaning Ted and Grant?”

  “Good heavens, no! Meaning Karen and Gina.”

  “Ahh, that’s better.”

  “After your show in Kansas City, will you go back to Tulsa?” His fingers trailed higher, tickling the inside of her elbow. It had been miles back when he had pulled her beside him, yet the acute consciousness of his thigh pressed to hers, his long, hard body against hers hadn’t diminished with time. Too clearly she recalled the feel of him when he had lain on top of her. She knew how muscled his bare legs were beneath the smooth fabric of his slacks. It was an increasing effort to follow what he said.

  “I’ll go long before July, about the middle of June.”

  Only four weeks from now! She sighed with relief, ignoring a threatening flicker of disappointment. Four weeks wasn’t long. His aftershave was enticing, a barely noticeable fragrance. Four weeks. She hoped she’d get through the good night at her door.

  He removed his arm from her shoulders and his hand dropped to her knee. He pushed the cotton skirt aside to touch her bare skin. She couldn’t have been more aware of his fingers if they had been tongues of flame hovering over her flesh, but Cole’s conversation remained impersonal as he asked about her school, talked about wheat harvest and cattle. To have rejected his touch would have given it more importance than she was willing to admit. But the slow, feathery circles his fingers were drawing on the inside of her leg, just above her knee, were accelerating her pulse.

  He turned down her wide street where the dark shadows of sycamore branches dappled the pavement. When he stopped in her drive and cut the engine, she stepped out of the car.

  He met her at the walk and dropped his arm across her shoulders. As they walked to her door she mentally rehearsed three words. Good night, Cole. Say it quickly, go inside. Good night. Cole. How simple. Don’t let him kiss you. … Her heart didn’t get the message. It beat wildly as they climbed the porch steps, with Cole’s boot heels scraping the boards. Somewhere behind the house two dogs barked.

  “They don’t recognize your car or know I’m here,” Marilee explained.

  “Your dogs?”

  “Napoleon and Wellington.”

  He laughed. “Evidently they get along better than their namesakes did.”

  “They declared a truce. When they were pups they fought.”

  “Is this your house? Do you share it with one of those many sisters or your parents?”

  She pulled her key ring from a pocket in her shorts. “It’s mine. I’m the unmarried sister. My parents live a mile from here and two sisters live in Wichita.”

  Cole leaned an arm against the outside screen door, holding it closed, and turned her to face him. He toyed with the strap on her shoulder, smoothing it, brushing lightly against her skin, making her remember when he had so carefully lowered that strap.

  His voice was deep and husky. “That’s a mighty dark house. Would you like me to come in, make sure everything’s safe?”

  “Good try!”

  “It might not be a bad idea, you know.”

  “I’ve been coming home alone a long time now. I’ll let Napoleon and Wellington in and they’ll check the house for intruders.”

  “I give up. Almost.” His hand slid behind her neck and he pulled her forward slightly to meet his lowering head. His kiss reaffirmed their earlier passion.

  He claimed her lips. He took her breath, her entire body. The ache she felt stirring in her loins, spreading hotly through her limbs, was more intense than before. His earlier lovemaking, instead of lessening her desire, of assuaging her needs, had only made her anguished body want more. He had awakened the hunger she thought was under control, diminished by long hours at work, by dedication to her career.

  One of Cole’s hands roamed down her back, sliding warmly against her bare flesh until he reached the thin cotton of her sundress. His fingers trailed lower, caressing the small of her back, following her spine, creating wild sparks of heat. When his fingers drifted over the slope of her buttocks, she began to struggle.

  She caught his hard, bony wrist and pulled his hand away, twisting her head to free her lips from his. He buried his face in the cloud of red hair while he nuzzled her shoulder. “My auburn-haired witch!”

  “Good night. Cole.” Her voice was breathless.

  Thick lashes lowered while he gazed at her through half-closed eyes. His voice was as uneven as hers. “Honey, today was very, very special.”

  “I think it would be better for us both to forget it.”

  “Now who’s taking a relationship lightly—after your stern warning!”

  “This isn’t a relationship. It really isn’t.”

  His brows narrowed over the bridge of his straight nose. “I hope, way down deep, you don’t mean that.”

  Her heart speeded up. “You have me so confused I don’t know what I’m doing—except telling you good night. I have to go.”

  He smiled and touched her cheek. “All right, but I’ll smell your perfume all the way home, wish you were beside me, your knee close to mine. I’ll hear your laughter, remember you tumbling out of the sky, dropping down into my pool, remember your kisses. …”

  She clamped her jaws together and turned to unlock the door. In her haste, she dropped the key and it clattered on the porch. Cole picked it up and when she reached to take it, his fingers closed around hers, tugging lightly, pulling her hand to his mouth to kiss the inside of her wrist.

  His tongue flicked against the heel of her palm, starting a fresh wave of reaction, a sweet longing, a remembrance of the night’s intimacy.

  Pulling free of his grasp, her fingers closed around the small metal key. “Some night soon you won’t shut me out, Marilee,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Even now you can only close me out of your house, not out of your heart.”

  Without answering she unlocked the door and stepped inside her house. She was trembling, thankful it was dark and he couldn’t see her face. He didn’t move, but stood across the threshold, his blue eyes piercing hers. “Good night,” she whispered reluctantly and closed the door.

  Standing without moving, she listened to his footsteps across the porch. Within seconds the car door slammed, then silence. She realized that he must be waiting to see a light come on. She flipped the switch, then hurried through the house, through familiar rooms filled with potted plants, her home which had suddenly lost its appeal. Thinking the dogs would help to alleviate her depression, she opened the back door of the screen porch and let them inside.

  As the two silver afghans bounded into the house, she heard the motor of a car roar then fade into the night. She patted the dogs’ slender heads, talking to them, watching their tails wag joyously in welcome. When she straightened, they followed her through the house but she forgot them instantly. She was thinking about Cole and the day. It seemed years since morning. She glanced around her yellow kitchen with its potted plants. She loved the lush green plants for they gave her a feeling of something tropical in dry Kansas.

  Switching off the lights, she walked through her small dining room with its round oak table and four chairs. By comparison to Cole’s spacious farmhouse, her home was small, but it was comfortable. In her yellow bedroom her text lay on the corner of the dresser. She picked it up and held the thick blue book in her hands.

  The Words You Read by M. L. O’Neil.

  Cole Chandler threatened her career, her work, her peace, her existence. One weak moment wasn’t the end of the world. She glanced at her reflection

  In her dresser mirror, staring at wide green eyes, the freckles across her nose, the auburn hair that curled softly over her shoulders. Yet all she could really see wa
s her mind’s image of thick-lashed laughing blue eyes, deep lines bracketing a full smile with flashing white teeth, dark brown locks of hair tumbling over a wide, intelligent forehead. He was so independent, accustomed to taking charge all the years he had been on his own and responsible for his sister, his work. Yet there had been moments when he’d sounded as if he needed her as badly as she did him. She shook her head. That kind of daydreaming could earn her a broken heart.

  “Damn you. Cole!” she whispered. Wellington’s tail thumped vigorously, arousing her from her reverie. She looked down at her dog and laughed.

  “That’s right. Damn Cole Chandler.”

  Both dogs wagged their tails and Marilee patted their heads before placing her book on the dresser. She bathed, determined to fight her memory of the day, but as she lathered a long, shapely leg, she recollected Cole’s warm hands caressing her knee, her thigh. Shifting, she scrubbed vigorously, rushing through her bath before climbing into bed to find more agonizing memories taunting her. Forcing her thoughts to school, she contemplated the work she needed to do the following week.

  Early the next morning, she called Ted Workman to ask him and Grant to look at Cole’s house and give him an estimate, promising that whatever sum they decided to charge would be agreeable with her. She dressed, attended church, went by her parents’ house for Sunday dinner, and didn’t return home until almost dark.

  She hadn’t been there ten minutes when the phone rang. “Hello,” she said into the receiver.

  “Chicken.”

  Her heart jumped at the sound of Cole’s deep voice and she laughed. “No,” she said, “but I’m busy and I do have a little sense.”

  “I lost all mine yesterday when I was invaded by a gorgeous redhead.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she answered lightly, but his words recalled their meeting, the image of Cole standing beside the pool.

  “That was a dirty, rotten, low-down, sneaky trick to send two guys out here. I was showered, had on my Sunday best, all ready for a marvelous day. …”

  “Cole, it’s useless.”