Beauty and the Wolf (13 page)

“You missed dinner with Justin and Lily in order to come get me, didn't you?” she asked as the traffic light changed from amber to green and Eli accelerated down the street.

He shrugged. “I'll see them next week—Justin's barbecuing steaks for Granddad on Saturday.”

“Nevertheless, I'm sorry you had to miss dinner tonight because of me.”

“Trust me, it's not a problem.” He glanced sideways, a brief smile curving his mouth. “I can have dinner at Justin's anytime. Rescuing a pretty woman is more important—especially if she'll agree to share Thai take-out with me.”

His smile eased the uncomfortable, faintly unsettled tension in Frankie, and she smiled back at him. “I have a bottle of wine that would be perfect with Thai food.”

“Sounds good.”

Eli braked, slotting the truck into an empty space in front of a Thai restaurant at the foot of Queen Anne.

“I'll be right back.” He left the truck's engine running,
the heater continuing to blow warm air on Frankie's damp feet. The windshield wipers swished rhythmically as he jogged through the rain and disappeared inside the restaurant. Moments later, he returned. The two brown bags he tucked behind the seat filled the cab's interior with mouthwatering smells.

“What kept you at work so late?” he asked as he pulled out of the parking slot and headed for her condo building.

“A department staff meeting,” she told him. “Even though I'm subbing in English Lit, I'm still technically a part of the research department. In order to stay involved with decisions on future projects, I have to attend staff meetings.”

“Isn't it unusual to have someone in research lecturing in the classroom?” Eli asked, curious.

“I suppose it is,” she replied. “But the circumstances were unique. The English department needed someone immediately, and not only was I temporarily unassigned, since I'd just completed a project, but I have a doctorate in English Lit and I'm qualified to teach.” She shrugged. “It was an easy fix.”

“Do you enjoy the change?” He glanced sideways at her. “Or are you counting the days until you're back on your regular schedule?”

“I'm enjoying it,” she told him with a smile. “But then, I love my job in research, too.”

“When will you go back to it—next quarter?”

“I'm not sure. The return date for the professor on emergency leave is open-ended.”

A few moments of silence passed until they reached Frankie's building. Eli parked and got out, jogging around the truck to open her door; together, they ran through the rain to the lobby.

Inside Frankie's condo, she slipped out of her raincoat and tugged off her boots.

“You can leave your wet things here,” she told Eli as she picked up her purse and briefcase. She dropped them on the seat cushion of an armchair as she passed it on her way into the kitchen.

He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled off his boots before following her. “Where's the bottle of wine?”

“In the cabinet below the coffeemaker.” She lifted plates down from an upper cupboard while Eli set the bags of Thai takeout on the table and located the wine.

Frankie went up on tiptoe to reach stemmed wine glasses on a higher shelf, but they were just barely beyond her fingertips.

“Here, let me.” Eli stretched above her, his chest pressing against her back as he easily lifted two glasses and set them on the countertop.

His body radiated heat; she felt it from her shoulders to her knees, his chest lightly touching her back, his thighs barely brushing hers. Her eyes closed, and she drew in a deep breath.

Eli stilled. Then his palms settled on the countertop on each side of her, his big body bracketing hers. His head bent, and she felt him brush his face against her hair.

“Frankie,” his deep voice murmured in her ear. “I'm sorry I upset you the other day at the barn. I didn't mean to insult your intelligence. I saw you with a horse as big as a mountain and instinct took over. I only wanted to protect you.”

Frankie turned, looking up into his face as she searched his eyes. She found only sincerity.

“I'd like to swear I'd never do that again, but I can't lie to you.” His face hardened. “If I thought you were in danger, I'd probably act on instinct and try to protect you.”

Any remaining anger leached away, receding behind a warm swell of emotion and leaving Frankie amused at his expression. Eli was braced, clearly expecting her to be angry at him.

“As far as apologies go, that's just about the worst one I've ever heard,” she told him, sliding her hands up the fine wool sleeves covering his forearms, over the swell of biceps under his black V-neck sweater, until her fingers curled over the slope of his shoulders. “You're sorry but you'd do it again?” She laughed at the chagrined look on his face. “Couldn't you have stopped at ‘I'm sorry'?”

“I should have,” he agreed, the taut line of his mouth easing into a slow, sexy grin. “But I didn't think lying was a good plan.”

“Will you at least promise to ask me if I know what I'm doing the next time, and if I want or need help before you barge in and save me?” she asked, enjoy
ing the sense of leashed power beneath her fingers and palms.

“I promise I'll try.” He bent his head, resting his forehead against hers. “You scared the hell out of me, Frankie. Compared to the size of that horse, you're tiny.”

“I suppose I am,” she conceded. “And since you hadn't seen Daisy before, you had no way of knowing she's as harmless as a friendly puppy. But still…” She eyed him, wanting to make her point. “You need to ask me next time.”

A frown drew his dark brows down, and he leaned back to search her features. “Just for the record—are you doing anything else dangerous on a regular basis?”

“Oh, no.” Frankie smiled up at him, laughing aloud when relief erased the worry lines. She lifted on her toes, pressing an impulsive, affectionate kiss on his mouth.

Eli immediately caught her close, taking over as he ravaged her mouth with a possessive, claiming kiss. When he lowered her back on her heels, she was breathless.

“Maybe we should eat,” he suggested, deep voice rasping.

“Yes,” she said, her own voice husky with arousal. “That's a great idea.”

“In here at the table—or in the living room?” he asked.

“Living room, I think. We can turn on the news or a movie.”

“Sounds good.” Eli poured wine into the glasses and carried them into the living room, returning to carry off the plates, utensils and napkins as Frankie set them on the counter.

Frankie joined him with the two take-out bags, which she immediately unloaded onto the low coffee table. Eli opened the first few white boxes, and the aroma of spicy food reminded them both that they were ravenous.

“That was delicious,” Frankie said after emptying her plate. She curled her feet under her and settled back on the sofa, a glass of wine cradled in her hands.

Eli set his glass on the coffee table and, in one easy move, tugged her feet across the sofa cushion and propped them on his thigh. Startled, Frankie was about to protest when he ran his thumb down the arch of her right foot and pressed.

“Ohh,” she groaned, half closing her eyes. “That feels so wonderful.”

“Good.”

She lifted her lashes to find him watching her, a slow smile curving his mouth, his eyes that smoky, darker blue she loved.

He shrugged, his hands continuing to massage her foot. “Just part of my attempt to seduce you, ma'am,” he drawled.

She laughed. “Where did you get the cowboy accent?” she asked.

“It's part of the seduction,” he told her. “Women love cowboys, don't they?”

“Let me think. Except for Justin, the only cowboys
I've seen are ones in the movies. Definitely a lot to love there, so, yes, I suppose women do love cowboys.”

“See? The cowboy vibe works. That's where the ‘ma'am' came from.” He winked at her. “Throw in foot massage, Thai food and flowers and a guy has a chance with a lady.”

Frankie rolled her eyes in disbelief. “Does this line actually work with the women you date?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “Sometimes they just say thank you for the foot rub and tell me to go home.” He picked up her other foot and rubbed her arch.

She nearly groaned aloud again. “I won't tell you to go home,” she murmured.

He shot her a look from beneath his lashes, his eyes flashing blue. “Does that mean I can stay the night?”

Frankie knew the seemingly casual question was anything but—Eli had made no secret that he wanted her. She loved his bluntness because it freed her from the usual games men played. Was she ready to sleep with him? She wanted him, but the wariness that demanded she protect her heart still told her to wait. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, exactly. She'd long since moved past believing she was seeing Eli only as part of a scheme to distract Harry. And she knew her love of independence was fast taking second place to the sheer pleasure of sharing time with Eli. But Frankie believed in listening to her instincts and those instincts were whispering wait. Reluctantly, she heeded the warning.

“I don't think so,” she said. “Not yet.”

“At least you didn't say never,” he told her with a wry
grin. “I'll just have to keep trying.” He lifted her bare feet from his thigh and set them on the cushion. “We need music,” he declared, pushing to his feet.

“Why?” Taken by surprise, she looked up at him.

“Because dancing is the next item on the seduction list,” he told her, his gaze flicking over the room, stopping on the radio and CD player on the shelf below the television set. He knelt on one knee to switch off the audio on the TV and turn on the radio. Instantly, the room was filled with a slow, bluesy tune from Seattle's jazz station.

“Nice music.” He rose and walked to the sofa. “Dance with me, Frankie.”

Lifting the glass from her hand, he set it on the table and caught her fingers in his to draw her up from the soft cushions.

He tucked her close with his hands at her waist, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers testing the silky black hair at his nape as his arms hugged her closer. They moved slowly in time to the music, bodies swaying in the lamplit room.

Eli's arms tightened, his hands smoothing over the soft strip of bare skin in the space between the hem of her sweater and the waistband of her skirt.

“Should I worry about losing my head and being seduced?” Frankie murmured against his throat.

She felt his lips curve against her temple. “Not unless you want to be. Of course,” he drawled, his powerful thighs moving against hers as they swayed to the music, “any time you want to lure me into your bed, feel free.
I'm just a poor innocent country boy, so you could probably have your way with me before I knew what you were up to.”

Frankie tilted her head back, laughing as she met his gaze. “You're an innocent country boy? Is this part of the cowboy-vibe thing?”

“Yup. Be gentle with me.”

Frankie was laughing when he kissed her. His warm lips curved in a smile as they settled over hers.

“I missed you,” she sighed when his head lifted and she tucked her face against the strong, warm column of his throat. Each breath she took drew in the subtle tang of his aftershave and, beneath it, the elusive male scent she'd come to associate with Eli. “Let's not fight anymore.”

His arms tightened reflexively, pressing her closer.

“No,” he rasped in agreement. “Let's not fight.”

Their bodies moved together, the very air thickening with heat.

“I missed you, too.”

Frankie's heart slammed in her throat. “Did you?” she whispered.

He nodded, his cheek, faintly rough with beard stubble, moving against her hair. “Too much.” His voice was deeper, rougher. He stopped dancing, his mouth claiming hers with unmistakable desire.

F
rankie felt surrounded by Eli as he swung her off her feet and carried her to the sofa. His much bigger frame crowded hers on the wide cushions, but Frankie didn't care. She was swept up in the heat that exploded between them.

This was what she'd always wanted, needed, and had never found in any man she'd dated before. The passion that roared out of control between them was irresistible, and Frankie didn't try to fight it. Confident in his willingness to stop if she said no, she let desire pull her under, reveling in the shudder that shook his big frame when she slid her hands under his sweater and stroked her palms up the length of his bare back.

Eli tugged at her sweater, his hand flattening over the bare skin of her ribcage above her waistband.

When his fingers brushed over the soft swell of her breast above her bra, Frankie murmured against his mouth, shifting beneath the heavy thigh covering her own.

Long heated moments passed before Eli gradually eased them back from the edge, his kisses soothing rather than stoking the fire between them. At last, he lifted his head and looked down at her.

“Honey, if you're not going to ask me to stay for breakfast, we'd better go back to watching TV.”

Dazed, Frankie stared up at him, struggling to process the switch from passion to practicality.

“I…”

The phone rang, startling both of them.

“Do you need to answer that?” Eli asked.

“I suppose I should.”

He lifted away from her, stretched across the sofa and grabbed the phone from the end table and handed it to her. Frankie sat upright and slid her feet to the floor.

“Hello?” She frowned slightly. “Yes, this is Frankie Fairchild.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, hello, Nicholas. How nice to hear from you.”

Beside her, Eli's big body tensed. She glanced at him to find him watching her, eyes narrowed, his face inscrutable.

She paused, listening. “Much as I'd love to, I'm afraid I'm busy on Saturday. I'm so sorry.”

Frankie exchanged a few more polite comments with Nicholas, then rushed to end the call, clearly impatient—and mad. “I'm so sorry, Nicholas, but my date
just arrived. I'm afraid I have to ring off—lovely to hear from you. Yes, I'll tell Mom hello for you. Bye.”

She switched the phone off and looked at Eli.

“That was Nicholas Dean,” she said unnecessarily. “He told me he ran into Harry and Mom this afternoon and they mentioned how much I've been wanting to see the new musical at the Pantages. And since he has tickets, he thought we could go together.”

“I bet he did,” Eli said, his voice a growl.

“Harry's still matchmaking—and with Nicholas.” Frankie could hardly believe it. “He
knows
you and I have been dating. And so does Mom. Why on earth would she have gone along with Harry nudging Nicholas to ask me out?”

“I don't know. I thought she liked me,” Eli commented, a muscle flexing along his jawline. He stood, raking his hair back. “Maybe she likes the idea of you paired with Nicholas better.”

“Oh, no, Eli. I'm sure that's not true.” Frankie rose to slide her arms around his waist, and Eli instantly slipped his arms around her, tugging her forward until she rested against his hard length. “It's far more likely that Harry was not so subtly encouraging Nicholas to call me and Mom wasn't able to stop him. You know how Harry is when he gets an idea fixed in his head—he's like a bulldozer with no brakes.”

“That's true.” Eli nodded, his hands smoothing over her waist. “And apparently he's still fixated on getting you and Nicholas together.” He looked down at her. “You're sure you're not interested in him?”

She shook her head.

“Thank God.” He narrowed his eyes over her. “I've always liked Nicholas, but I'm not sure we'd stay friends if you went out with him.”

“Are you saying you might be unfriendly if you ran into him?” Frankie asked.

“I'm saying I'm not normally a violent man, but I'm making no promises if you start dating other men.”

“Just so we're clear,” she said slowly, suppressing a smile. “Are you saying you want us to be exclusive and not date other people?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying, and you know it,” he told her, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“I just wanted to be clear. And to be even more clear, you're asking me, not telling me, correct?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. I would never order an intelligent, independent woman such as yourself not to date other men. I'm sure you'd call me a neanderthal if I did.”

“Yes,” she told him primly. “I certainly would.”

“Then I can count myself lucky we're in agreement.” He picked her up, her feet dangling in the air, and kissed her.

The kiss was hot, carnal and a fierce declaration of possession, branding Frankie as surely as if he'd marked her. When he lowered her feet to the floor, she had to clutch his arms to keep from staggering.

“Since you won't let me stay for breakfast, I think it's time for me to leave, while I can still tear myself away.”

Much to her satisfaction, Eli's breathing was as ragged as hers.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they walked to the door.

Moments later, after he'd donned jacket and boots and they'd shared another kiss that left her feeling dazed and hot, he left.

As Frankie turned out her bedside lamp later, she vowed to have a talk with Harry and her mother. She was certain Cornelia must have been an innocent bystander to Harry's machinations.

But Harry better be prepared to explain why he's continuing to interfere in my love life when it's clear Eli and I are involved,
she thought with determination.

 

Frankie called Cornelia the following morning and, after chatting for a few moments, learned her mother was meeting Harry at his house that evening after work.

“Why don't you join us, Frankie?” Cornelia said. “We're going over the applications for the HuntCom college scholarship program. I'd love to have your input, and I know Harry would, too.”

“What time?” Frankie asked, listening as Cornelia gave her the details. When she hung up, she'd promised to join them for an hour.

And she planned to use most of that hour grilling Harry about his matchmaking efforts, she thought with determination.

When she pulled into Harry's driveway that evening, Cornelia's Volvo was parked next to a long, black town
car. Frankie slotted her BMW in beside the limo and walked quickly down the walk. She glanced at the sky over the lake, thankful that the Pacific Northwest was enjoying a beautiful clear day although the sun was already low on the horizon, sinking behind the Seattle skyline.

“Good evening, Sonja,” she said as Harry's longtime maid opened the door. “I'm meeting my mother here—is she in the library with Harry?”

“Yes, miss.” Sonja took her coat. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Frankie shook her head. “I doubt it, not tonight.”

In fact, she thought as she left the maid and walked through the house to reach the library, she might not be staying more than a few minutes. It all depended on whether Harry agreed to cease his attempts to fix her up with Nicholas Dean.

She'd long since grown accustomed to the opulent home Harry had built with the fortune he'd made from HuntCom, the computer software corporation he'd built through sheer genius and hard work. Cornelia and her husband had grown up with Harry; the two men had been partners when HuntCom was a fledgling firm operated out of Harry's garage. When Frankie's father died suddenly, leaving little money for his widow and daughters, Harry had tried to convince Cornelia to let him take care of her and the girls. But Cornelia had refused, stubbornly determined to make her own way. She'd sold their big house and moved her daughters back to her family home in Queen Anne, then taken a
job working at a private school to fund their education. Through sheer determination and shrewd acumen, Cornelia had managed to raise her girls with only minimal interference from Harry. She'd accepted his offer of educational traveling during school vacations, however, and reluctantly agreed when he gave them each a large sum of money upon high school graduation.

Frankie had used Harry's graduation gift to pay her tuition while she earned two master's degrees and a PhD.

Much as she adored her uncle Harry, however, she was determined to take a firm stand on the issue of his matchmaking. He'd simply stepped beyond what any self-respecting woman could accept, she thought as she entered the library.

“There you are, Frankie,” Cornelia greeted her with a welcoming smile. She and Harry were seated at a cherrywood library table halfway down the long room.

At the far end of the room, facing a wall of windows and French doors that led to a patio, was Harry's massive mahogany desk. The room provided a fabulous view of Lake Washington and the Seattle skyline beyond.

Frankie's heels tapped on the polished wooden floors, grew muffled as she crossed a deep-piled oriental carpet, then clicked on bare flooring once more.

“Hello, Mom, Harry.” Frankie set her purse on the table and took the chair on Harry's right. He sat at the end of the table, Cornelia on his left, several stacks of papers arranged on the glossy surface. Both he and Cornelia had sheets of paper and a small group of scholarship
applications on the table in front of them. A coffee-service tray took up space just beyond Cornelia.

“I'm so glad you could make it,” Cornelia said. “I'd love your input on several of the applications. We've narrowed down the number, as you can see.” She gestured at the smaller stacks.

“I'm happy to help, Mom,” Frankie replied, her back ramrod straight and several inches away from the back of her chair. “But first, I need to talk to you and Harry.”

“Oh?” Cornelia glanced from her to Harry, a puzzled frown pleating her brow. “What about?”

“I had a phone call last night—from Nicholas Dean.”

The brief flash of guilt that flickered across Harry's features confirmed Frankie's suspicions that he'd instigated the call.

“Uncle Harry, I specifically told you the night we were all here for dinner that I wasn't interested in Nicholas,” she told him. “And yet you're apparently trying to push the two of us together.”

“Harry!” Cornelia's expression was appalled, her dismay echoed in her voice. “Please tell me you haven't been meddling in Frankie's love life.”

“Now, just a minute,” Harry blustered, his cheeks flushed. “I wouldn't call it meddling.”

“What
would
you call it?” Frankie demanded.

“Well,” he grumbled. “I only mentioned that you'd been wanting to see the new musical at the Pantages, that's all.”

“And?” Frankie prompted when he paused.

“All right,” he admitted. “I might have suggested Nicholas should phone you.”

Frankie groaned. “Why do you keep doing this?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. “First with your own sons, then with Tommi and Bobbie—and now me! You've got to stop interfering in our lives.”

“My sons are all happily married, and Tommi and Bobbie appear very happy, so how is that a bad thing?” Harry asked.

“You were lucky, Uncle Harry—what if your sons or my sisters had ended up brokenhearted, or divorced?”

“But they didn't,” he insisted with stubborn logic.

“But you couldn't have known how things would turn out when you started throwing people together,” Frankie pointed out. “And it could have been a disaster.”

“I only wanted you and your sisters to be as happy as my boys,” Harry said. “Even your mother thought Nicholas was right for you.”

Frankie's eyes widened. “Mom, please tell me you didn't know Harry was doing this. I assumed you were an innocent bystander when Harry cornered Nicholas and told him to phone me.” The sense of betrayal was sharp. Surely her mother wouldn't have gone along with Harry's crazy scheme?

“I had nothing to do with that,” Cornelia said firmly. She frowned at Harry, her eyes accusing. “I admit we discussed how much we liked Nicholas the night of the Children's Hospital fundraiser. I may even have commented that he seemed more of a match for you than
Eli, but I
never
told Harry to interfere and set you up with Nicholas.”

“Of course she didn't,” Harry put in abruptly. “But there's no ignoring the facts. You're twenty-nine, Frankie. You need to marry soon—or you'll miss your best childbearing years.”

“My best childbearing years?” Frankie seethed. “You make it sound as if I'm a brood mare, Harry.”

“No, no, that's not what I meant,” he said quickly, looking harried. “I only meant having younger people in my life as I get older—my sons, you and your sisters, my granddaughter, Ava—is one of the greatest joys I know. But I wasn't aware it would be so when I was your age.” He gestured at Cornelia. “And your mother would make a wonderful grandmother, not to mention how much she'd love having grandchildren.”

“Harry.” Cornelia was clearly restraining herself. “I have the urge to rap you over the head with my umbrella. How on earth can you be so dense about people?”

Harry looked bewildered. “I only wanted you to know the joy of having little ones in the family again, Cornelia. At our age, it's a wonderful thing.” His jaw firmed, and he straightened. “And you must admit, if Frankie continues as she has for the last several years, she'll probably have earned more university degrees by the time she's forty, but she won't have children.”

“If you're suggesting that I'm too bookish to have sex, Uncle Harry,” Frankie said with deadly calm, “then you don't know me at all.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Eli and I have been sleeping together for ages,”
she declared with dramatic flair. “And if hot, sweaty, amazingly fabulous sex is a guarantee of pregnancy, then I'm probably pregnant already.” She was lying through her teeth, but Harry didn't know that, and her rashly impulsive claim was worth the guilt she might feel later, Frankie thought as Harry's eyes widened and his face grew even redder. She glanced at Cornelia and saw her mother's eyebrows raise with surprise. Much to her relief, she also saw a spark of amusement as Cornelia glanced at Harry and then back at Frankie.