Tidewater Lover (6 page)

"I know quite a few places where they're not, but there's a tracer out on the shipment." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she refused to let it show. She hadn't completely forgiven him for his rudeness. "There should be a more definite word by Monday afternoon."

"But you're on vacation, so you won't be there." He tossed his cigarette into the fireplace, momentarily releasing Lacey from his vaguely disturbing gaze. "Which brings us back to our present impasse."

"Who stays and who goes." Her chin jutted forward to an angle of battle.

Cole Whitfield saw it and rested an elbow on the mantelpiece, an indolent gesture that seemed to indicate his own entrenchment.

"Since we're both prepared to be stubborn, I think the solution is for both of us to stay." Lacey arched an eyebrow, more in surprise than rejection of his proposal. "After all, we've already spent two nights together under the same roof," he reminded her.

There was one point she wanted clarified before she considered his suggestion seriously. "Are you rephrasing your invitation to share your empty bed?" she questioned frankly.

"You are alluding to my comment earlier, aren't you?" He smiled. "At the time, you struck me as being a slightly naive and frightened college girl, and propositioning you seemed the quickest way of making you take flight." There was a brief, negative shake of his head. "I'm not interested in sex. I'm here for the peace and quiet. Although—" his gaze skimmed over her scantily clad figure "—if you make a habit of wandering around in that state of near-undress, I might exercise a woman's prerogative and change my mind," he added with a mocking inflection in his voice.

His allusion to her sex sent an odd tremor quaking through her nerve ends. Hastily she raised the drooping neckline of her pajama top and tucked the torn strap under her arm, but there was nothing she could do about the brevity of her nightclothes or the bare expanse of shapely leg and thigh they revealed.

"Part of it's your fault," she retorted defensively, referring to the torn strap.

"'Entirely by accident," he assured her. "Well, what do you say?"

"You just said you wanted peace and quiet. Why are you willing to have me stay here, too?" Lacey wanted to know.

"My previous encounters with you may have been brief, but they left me with a lasting impression. If I tried to insist that you leave, I'm certain you would fight to the last breath, and I've had all the fighting and arguing that I want. Besides, I'm tired," he admitted, and Lacey noticed the lines of strain around his mouth. "I would much rather come to an amicable arrangement that would suit both of us. We're civilized adults. You are an adult, aren't you?" he asked sarcastically.

"I'm twenty-four," she declared.

Again he gave her the once-over. "You look older."

"Thanks a lot!" A faintly angered astonishment ran through her voice. She was usually accused of not looking her age instead of the other way around.

"Probably wishful thinking on my part," he sighed tiredly, and looked away. "It's just that you look so damned seductive sitting there like that."

An uncomfortable flush warmed her cheeks. "I'll get a robe," she murmured, and started to scramble off the sofa, tightly clutching the bodice of her pajamas.

Cole Whitfield moved to block her path. "Don't bother."

Immediately his mouth thinned impatiently. "What I mean is—" he started to put his hands on her shoulders, then stiffly drew them back to his side "—if you agree with my solution, there's no reason why we can't turn in for the night. In separate rooms, of course," he joked tightly.

"I…" Lacey hesitated.

At close quarters, his inherent virility suddenly held a powerful attraction. And if, as he had implied, he had felt a similar reaction to her, wouldn't rooming together under a supposedly platonic agreement prove to be volatile and unworkable?

"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly—and strangely Lacey believed that he did. "Things could only get sticky if we let them. I may be ill-tempered at times, but I still have control over my baser instincts. And so, I'm sure, do you."

He was right. A smile flickered over her lips as she found humor in her silly apprehensions. They were both adults. The situation couldn't get out of hand unless they permitted it.

"Does that smile mean yes, roommate?" The corners of his eyes crinkled, although the line of his mouth remained straight.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Fine. Then what do you say we bring this conversation to an end so I can get some sleep?" Cole Whitfield suggested lazily.

"Right." Lacey smiled. "Good night," she said, and moved past him to the hallway leading to her bedroom.

Three-quarters of an hour later she was lying in her bed, dead tired yet unable to fall asleep. She fought to lie still and not toss and turn with her restlessness.

The previous two nights, when she hadn't known Cole Whitfield was sleeping in the next room, she had slept like a baby. But now, knowing he was there, she discovered she wasn't quite as nonchalant about it as she had thought she would be. Good grief, she could even hear the squeak of his bedsprings when he moved.

You're being immature, she scolded herself silently, and forced her eyes to close.

It was a long time before she was able to ignore his presence in the house and drift into sleep. In consequence it was past midmorning before she awakened, vaguely irritable from having slept too late.

Grabbing her cotton housecoat from the foot of the bed, she pulled it on as she hurried toward the bathroom. In the hall she stopped face to face with a bleary-eyed, tousle-haired Cole, also en route to the bathroom.

His dark blue eyes made a disgruntled sweep of her and she felt a moment's relief that she had changed into her long-legged silky pajamas of turquoise blue. He couldn't accuse her of not being substantially covered!

The same couldn't be said for him, she realized as she became rather painfully conscious that below that naked expanse of his tanned chest he was wearing a pair of jockey shorts. She had often seen her two older brothers similarly attired, yet it wasn't quite the same when the man was Cole Whitfield.

There was a sardonic twist of his mouth as he gestured toward the bathroom door. "Ladies first." Then he retreated unself-consciously into the second guest room.

Lacey darted into the bathroom, her cheeks burning like a schoolgirl's. Cold water from the tap was more effective than the silent chiding words she directed at herself. With her face washed, teeth brushed, and light makeup applied, she emerged from the bathroom.

A glance into Cole's room saw him sitting on the edge of the unmade bed, his dark head resting tiredly in his hands.

"I'm all through," Lacey told him, with considerably more poise regarding his state of dress. "It's yours now. I'm going to put some coffee on to perk."

"Good." He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands over his face before rising.

In the kitchen, she filled the coffee pot with water and spooned fresh grounds into the basket. Water was running in the shower when she plugged the electric percolator in. She had plenty of time to dress before Cole was finished in the bathroom, so she poured a glass of orange juice and climbed on to one of the tall stools at the counter to drink it.

As she finished the juice, she heard the water being turned off in the shower. Sighing, she slid from the stool and started to her room.

She was halfway across the living room when the front doorbell rang. Changing her direction to answer it, she shrugged. It was probably someone to see Margo and Bob.

Descending the steps, she paused at the front door to look out through the peephole. A man and a woman stood outside, but Lacey couldn't see enough of them to recognize them as anyone she knew. She opened the door a crack.

"Yes?" She smiled politely at the pair.

They were complete strangers to her. The woman had beautiful long wheat blond hair, and makeup precisely applied to her striking features. Her green eyes registered shock at the sight of Lacey standing on the other side of the door.

Her clothes were casual, white slacks with a vividly red print top. On the blonde they looked chic—the only adjective Lacey could find to describe her impression.

The man, taller with sandy blond hair, seemed first surprised to see Lacey, then amused. He was very good-looking, but she suspected he was probably conceitedly aware of the fact.

She opened her mouth to explain that Bob and Margo were on vacation, but the woman spoke before she had the chance.

"We must have the wrong address, Vic," she declared in an icy tone. She would have turned to leave if the man hadn't taken hold of her elbow to keep her at the door.

Without glancing at the blonde, he directed his curious gaze at Lacey. "We're looking for Cole Whitfield. Is he here?"

Lacey became tense, suddenly aware of all the embarrassing connotations that could be read into her presence in the house alone with Cole all night. But what did it matter? She had done nothing to be ashamed of, so why act like it?

"He's here." She opened the door wide to let the couple in. "Follow
me."

She started up the stairs with the unnaturally silent pair behind her. Just for a minute Lacey wished she had dressed instead of having orange juice, but it was too late now.

As they passed the landing, the attractive blonde asked with a somewhat superior air, "Are you the housekeeper?"

To any other question Lacey would have probably answered politely, with an explanation of the circumstances for her being in the house. But that one grated. She half turned on the stairs, a hand on her hip, and gave the woman a deliberately cool and amused look.

"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."