Always (7 page)

Cole lifted his shirt away from his body in short, flapping motions in a futile effort to dry the damp spots.

"It helps to have unusual talents in your climb to the top," he commented, slogging his way to the bank looking like a tarnished angel with the sun touching his blond hair.

"Well, you surely have unusual talents," Elinor agreed as he sat down where she was stretched out on the river-bank. "Although I don't think juggling mud balls has much practical use these days."

He leaned back next to her, braced on one elbow with the fabric of his shirt pulled taut against his muscled shoulders. "Oh, but you're wrong."

Propped above her, his dark eyes suddenly seemed bluer than the sky. "My talent for juggling has just helped me accomplish my primary goal for this afternoon. Don't you feel it? Reckless innocence?" His voice dropped into velvet. "The blood running through your veins, the electricity of possibilities?"

Elinor stared up at him, suddenly aware of the stillness all around them, aware that she'd been waiting all afternoon to kiss him again. Longing for it with an urgency that disturbed her equilibrium and left her dizzy.

Drifting closer, Cole dipped his head to hers. His mouth surged over hers with an elemental passion, sending shock waves through her system. She felt the muscled weight of him, drew in the heady scent of his skin, tasted his soft wooing touch—all in one kaleidoscopic moment. And found herself clutching him like a drowning woman.

As if sensing the raging hunger his touch ignited in her, Cole pressed closer, his hand slipping up to cup her head, sifting through the wisps of hair at her temple. His mouth moved over hers in earthy sensuality, a frank, unpolished mating of flesh.

A haze clogged Elinor's mind. Every breath she took imprinted his scent on her memory. The solid weight of him felt like a homecoming, an ancient rightness. She grasped the fabric of his shirt, reveling in the heat of him beneath the cloth, the life and power that raged from his body to hers like an arc of electricity.

Cole let his thumb drift down her neck, pausing on the slam of her pulse as his mouth mated once more with hers. Elinor opened to him, her body arching to meet his, instinctively striving for more contact.

Naked wouldn't be enough. In that instant, she wanted nothing less than total submersion. Cole Whittier under her skin.

He was real, the way he made her feel, the surge of passion in his arms. Everything else faded, a pale memory, unimportant beside her fierce hunger to lose herself in Cole. She felt the hard thud of his heartbeat against her breast, the thrusting distension of his arousal as he held her to him.

The faint sound of a child's voice, still yards away, hit Elinor with the splash of cold reality.

Jolted, she tore her lips away from Cole's, reaching up to grasp his hand just as he cupped her breast.

"There's someone coming," she panted, adrenaline roaring through her with the urgency of life threat. "We have to get up." She pushed against his unyielding weight.

"Shhh." He brushed back her hair from her face. "It's all right. We're not doing anything."

"They won't know that," she commented tightly, "if you don't get up."

Jeez, she berated herself as she stood up, hurriedly straightening her clothes, the high, childish voices growing nearer. This is a really good way to keep your distance from heartache. Get into a clinch with Cole Whittier right here in front of God and the good people of Bayville.

Elinor brushed the twigs off her skirt and balled up her panty hose in one hand. She had to have rocks in her head to get this involved with a man she couldn't trust. A cluster of kids came around the corner in the path just as she finished making herself presentable.

"Those are Councilman Morris's children," she hissed to Cole. His answering chuckle drew her glare. Stalking back to clear away their picnic remains, Elinor promised herself not to get too close to Cole Whittier.

Elinor reached up to snap off her desk light. She couldn't concentrate to save her soul, and there was no use pretending otherwise. She sat in her darkened office, the only light cast through the open door into the hallway. Restlessness plagued her like a bad reputation.

The lace curtains at the open window stirred and danced in the breeze, the wind as restless as her blood. She rose and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain to draw in a breath of night air. She'd been jittery all day, unable to escape thoughts of Cole.

Turning from the window, Elinor left her office in a surge of nervous energy, slipping out the front door to the wide gallery to find refuge in a comfortable wicker rocker. The air was sweet all around her, fresh with the scent of awakening earth and the flowering of a hundred spring shrubs. A night breeze slid over her sundress-bared arms and legs, soft and seductive against her skin.

The pebbly surface of the wicker felt smooth and cool beneath her fingers as Elinor set the chair in motion and untethered her mind. She'd fought it all day, but now Cole crowded into her consciousness, as pervasive as the drumbeat of springtime.

Their brief afternoon interlude by the river troubled her thoughts . . . and her body.

Night sounds rose and fell around her as she rocked, the busy life of insects and night critters carrying on as if she wasn't there. In the distance, she heard the hush of tires on the black-topped road at the end of her curving drive. The sound approached in the night and died away.

There was an itchiness beneath her skin, a tangled yearning as ancient as the seasons. And every possibility of respite collided with her heart. She wanted, lusted, longed for Cole Whittier. And he was the last man to whom she could bare her soul. Cole worshipped money, the attitude that ruined her father and grandfather's lives.

The gallery's wooden floor creaked beneath her with the slow rocking of the chair. She leaned her head against the woven back, submitting to her daydreams.

The crackle of footsteps nearby brought Elinor up in her chair. A flash of sensation skittered over her skin like a cold shiver. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, she considered bolting for the door. She felt vulnerable, suddenly aware of being easy prey. But surely, her mind rationalized, Bayville was different from living in the city. Strange men didn't stalk women here.

The breeze lifted sliding around her body with restless fingers. Elinor searched the night with still-anxious eyes. The inky blackness of the country-dark night, lit only by a pale sliver of moon, had never seemed so filled with possibilities.

He materialized out of the murk at the foot of her steps, the faintness of moonglow coalescing on his hair. Standing at the lower step, Cole watched her.

"Come dance with me," he bid her without preamble, his hand raising in invitation.

She knew she shouldn't go with him. Elinor's fingers clenched the arms of the rocking chair. There could be no happy ending with him; still, she felt compelled to respond.

He stood waiting, silent and persuasive, his hand held out in entreaty.

She rose from the chair, her full skirt whispering with the movement. The gallery had never seemed so long, and never had she been so filled with mingled desire and dread. Cole Whittier could break her heart, but her heart didn't seem to care.

Her hand slipped into his like a homecoming, a perfect fit, the warmth of him surrounding her. She saw his smile, a glinting temptation in the faint light, and joy bubbled up in her. She loved Cole's smile. He didn't look like himself without it.

Taking her hand, he drew her down the steps and away from the driveway, into the junglelike grounds of Oakleigh.

"Where are we—?"

"Shh," he hushed her, weaving his fingers more snugly with hers.

He had to have cat eyes, she thought as he led her down a path she could hardly detect. At first, she walked hesitantly, not wanting to be tripped up as her sandals caught in stray vines. But gradually she grew less cautious. Cole seemed to know the path as if he'd walked it his whole life.

They crossed what had once been the front gardens of Oakleigh, seeming to skirt the shadowy hulk of the plantation house. When Cole drew her out of the sheltering trees, they stood on the thick grass between the house and the dark shape of the pool where ornamental fish had once swum.

The lights of the mansion were totally dark. It seemed eerily empty of life, the wide galleries suddenly peopled only by ghosts. Elinor let Cole tow her toward the house, balking only as he mounted the shallow steps.

He turned back to her. "Come dance with me."

"Here?" she hissed in a low voice.

"Yes."

"My grandfather—?"

"Can't hear much even when he's awake," her tempter pointed out irrefutably as he drew her up the steps.

"Well, what about Charlie?" Elinor tried again, maintaining a whisper.

Cole held her in the darker shadow of a huge column, his hands warm on her bare shoulders. "Charlie and I have an understanding," he claimed softly, drawing her into his arms.

"What?"

"He's out drinkin' and whorin'."

She felt Cole's soundless chuckle and suddenly had to repress her own spurt of mirth. The image of Charlie being dissolute was too priceless.

The huge gallery shadowed them, the worn brick floor smooth beneath their feet as Cole drew her into his arms. He began a slow, easy waltz, leading her with his body. They moved between light and dark, dancing into faint moonlight between the massive pillars. She'd never been a slouch on the dance floor, but no man had ever matched her steps so perfectly.

The sweetness of early roses perfumed the air as they swayed, Cole's body sure and graceful as he led their steps. The agitated pulse in her veins jumped a notch as the heat from his body brushed against hers.

The utter absence of human interruption lent an isolated magic to the air. Nature's night sounds took center stage and gave them music, rising and dropping as if joining the dance. Cole held her securely, their steps never faltering as he waltzed her along the gallery.

Elinor felt her mouth go dry. The male scent of him enveloped her as he drew nearer, her skirt brushing his legs. She felt a throbbing ache rise up in her body, an ancient call. Swallowing hard, she focused on the movement of their dance.

As they dipped and swayed, slowly circling the great house, Elinor let herself slip back in time. In her imagination, the house was suddenly alight with a thousand candles, music coming clearly through the doors, opened widely onto the gallery.

Outside, horses stood idle, waiting to draw their masters' carriages back home when the ball had ended. Inside, gaily dressed ladies swept around the room on the arms of their lovers.

Laughter was everywhere, and light, and the voices of people falling in love.

Cole's arm tightened around her waist. "I've always wanted to do this."

"Dance around a plantation house?" she whispered back, agonizingly aware of her breasts lightly brushing his jacket.

"No," he replied. "Dance with you."

Their steps whispered against the brick floor as Elinor's heart thudded against her breastbone. He was magic, leading her into her deepest fantasies where only their bodies held the music.

His steps slowed as he lowered his head, his lips brushing hers gently at first, then with agonizing eroticism. He made no attempt to deepen the kiss, concentrating instead on the softness of her mouth as if enchanted by its shape.

Elinor felt enfolded, held firm in his powerful arms. Her breath seemed trapped in her chest, as if drawing in air would chase away the blinding splendor of his kiss. Sensation splintered through her, her brain receptors jumbling the messages of his arousing scent together with the crush of his jacket beneath her fingers.

His hands caressed her back, warm through the thin cotton of her sundress, as a rush of emotion erupted in the pit of her stomach. Still swaying to their silent music, Cole kissed her as if she were treasure, a discovery he intended to keep all to himself.

Lifting his head, he whispered, "You do strange things to me, Ms. Prescott."

Sliding his arm around her more tightly, Cole cuddled her close, their waltz becoming more shuffle than step.

Elinor stared up at him, her eyes wide in her dazed state. Every nerve ending in her body danced to Cole's tune, and caution had long since been thrown to the winds.

His long fingers stroked her bare arm as they swayed together. Elinor's eyes closed as his touch washed over her. She felt him brush a kiss against her temple, a tantalizing caress.

Still, they swayed, Cole directing their movement as his hands stroked her back and arms. A subtle, powerful hunger vibrated in his body. She felt it in the bunched muscles of his shoulder and heard his swiftly indrawn breath when he pulled her against him.

They rounded the house again, once more on the uninhabited side near the dark pool. In a sudden fluid motion, Cole moved away from the house, toward the edge of the gallery. Elinor felt the cool hardness of column behind her back just as he bent his head to hers.

There was nothing gentle in this kiss. Pure hunger drove them along with an aching, desperate need. The emotions between them held such power, and yet stood on such shaky ground. She felt it in the flavor of his kiss, his recognition of their tenuousness. Elinor tasted determination, too, a bull-headed persistence in the sweep of his tongue against hers.

Cole wasn't used to losing battles.

Elinor arched her neck, lifting her hands up to slide through his hair. She needed to be in his arms, to feel his powerful craving for her.

Kissing hungrily, their hands roamed, fondling, caressing longed-for flesh. Cole urged her arms up closer around his neck, his bent elbows caging her breasts against his chest. He moved against her, groaning in his throat with deep pleasure. With his movement, she felt the evidence of his desire.

He lowered one hand to cup her, his splayed fingers molding her breast gently through the fabric of her dress. Elinor's head dropped back against the pillar that bolstered her. Cole's hand circled her breast, fondling the orb with an elemental intensity as if her flesh were riches.