Eden's Dream (9 page)

Her question was an excuse to shimmy out of his reach and fix those glorious eyes on him. Her skittishness only made him sidle closer. He wanted to touch her, smell her, love her. His fingers plucked the wisps at her nape. Her feminine scent pulled at him. Damp skin and soap. He loved it.

His voice was more gravelly than ever when he framed the question. “How long was the flight delayed?”

Visibly she went back in time. He could have sworn she forgot he existed. “Some of the papers said an hour. In reality, it was more like two.”

She'd gotten his attention. “You sure?”

She blinked once, twice and then focused on him again. “Yeah, I'm sure. I sat in on the crew's briefing. I'm the person who sent the flight attendants on board to complete their safety and galley check.”

His questions came like bullets now. “What was the official reason for the delay?”

Eden thought for a moment. “You know, I don't know. I don't recall. Air traffic, I think.”

“You think?”

She winced. In his excitement, his fingers pinched her shoulders. “Ouch, you're hurting me.”

“Sorry.”

She leaped from the couch, rubbed at the spot where his overeager fingers must have left an imprint, and finally said, “Come to think of it, Rod mentioned something about waiting for a delivery. I'm positive that's what he said.”

“Delivery?”

“Yes. They were holding for a box containing a cooler with dry ice.”

Slowly it all came back. All the gory details she'd subconsciously suppressed. Rod's telephone call to the briefing room. His whispered plea to meet him upstairs for coffee so they could talk. When she'd turned him down, he'd kept her on the phone, pleading his case. She'd told him his hormones had done his thinking for him. He'd made his choice and would have to live with the consequences.

Eden felt the familiar tightening in her chest. The sudden need for air. The feeling of light-headedness. Now was not the time to have a full-fledged panic attack. Not here. Not in front of this man. She'd been doing wonderfully well these past few days, up until his prying questions had made these painful memories resurface. Now look what he'd done. Right now she'd kill for a cigarette. Not so much for the nicotine, but for something to do with her hands. It had been five whole days since she'd last smoked.

Taking deep breaths to regain her equilibrium, she suddenly realized that smoking wasn't even an option. In her haste to get to Noel, she'd left her purse behind. She concentrated on her reason for being here. She'd had a purpose. Noel's distracting questions had caused her to forget her goal. At last she snapped a finger, remembering. Ah yes, the magazine!

Conscious of Noel hovering, she made a U-turn and almost slammed into him. Then like a running back evading his reach, she successfully retrieved the magazine and thrust it at him. “Who's Noah Robbins?”

His face betrayed his surprise. She pressed her advantage, simultaneously regaining her composure. Pointing an accusatory finger in front of his nose, she jabbed air. “And don't even try to lie your way out of this one. This,” she waved the magazine, “isn't the first piece of mail I've seen with Noah Robbins' name on it. But this time it's addressed to you. Explain yourself.”

Noel's face welded into the studied blankness she'd quickly grown used to. He didn't blink an eye. “I'm Noah Robbins.”

“You're who?” she sputtered. She'd expected him to lie, issue a feeble protest, and quickly concoct a story.

“Noah Robbins is my real name.”

“Who's Noel Robinson, then?”

“That's also my name. It's the name I use for business.”

This time he'd really confused her. “Why would you need a pseudonym to run a furniture-design business?” she asked skeptically.

His voice, gravel on velvet, formed a smooth reply. “Who's talking furniture design? I'm also a journalist by trade.”

A journalist! Who would have thought? Rendered speechless by his revelation, she admitted it all suddenly did make sense. The details he'd known about the crash, his ability to afford an expensive home on Mercer Island, his insatiable curiosity about the disaster. Even the unrelenting questions thrown her way. Hallelujah. The mysterious aura surrounding him was explainable. He was researching a story. And using her to do it. “You lied to me, Noel…” she said, pointing her finger at him.

Cutting off her protestations, he pulled her into his arms. “No, I didn't. I just omitted telling the whole truth. I'm sorry, Eden.”

Before she could get another word out, his head dipped to devour her mouth. Her hands pushed against his chest. Both hands dropped to her side. Noel's kiss was sweeter than she'd ever imagined. Despite her anger, she gave in to his hungry tongue as it danced, circled, and danced again. The connection was electric. Her response so unbelievably passionate, it would have been pointless to check. She'd been so wrong about him, and his kiss felt so right.

Noel made noises in the back of his throat as he gathered her even closer. She could feel every masculine inch of him pressed against her thigh, and God did she want him badly. As his kiss deepened, his hands circled the column of her throat, fingers caressing the hollows before traveling downward to settle at her breast.

The thin cotton of her blouse proved an ineffective barrier for the heat of his hands. He molded the nipples gently. She wanted to leap out of her skin. In seconds, he'd worked the buttons free, and a cool air-conditioned breeze blew against her bare skin, stiffening her nipples. In a quest to be free, her breasts pushed against the restricting confines of her bra. She wanted his hands all over her.

Against her lips, Noel groaned, “Oh, Eden, let me love you.”

Love her? A nightmarish reality returned, and with it sanity. She wasn't ready for love, carnal or otherwise. She'd given it once, and look where it had gotten her. She'd been betrayed, her trust violated.

But this isn't Rod,
the little voice in her head shouted.
You want this man. You've been bonded to him from the moment you first met him.
And though she'd felt that way, truth was, she barely knew Noel Robinson. Up until now, he'd kept his dual identity a secret. What else hadn't he told her?

Eden stepped out of Noel's arms, determined to deny the feelings he'd aroused. She raised a tentative hand to touch her bruised lips while the other fumbled to secure the buttons that had come undone.

“It's too soon, Noel,” she said, ignoring the plea in his eyes and her pulsating treacherous body.

“Eden,” he rasped, scooping her into his arms again.

“Tell me you don't want to make love with me.”

“Don't say it. You're a lousy liar.” He silenced her with another mind-altering kiss, quickly undid the buttons she'd secured, and shifted his attention to her breasts again. Her heart welcomed his touch, but her head said he should stop. Common sense told her nothing good would come of a one-nighter with Noel Robinson. And silly as it sounded, she didn't just want a quick roll in the hay. She wanted him forever.

Her cotton shirt remained bunched around her breasts while Noel's free hand fumbled with the snap of her jeans. She needed to stop him now before things really got out of control. They could easily live to regret this moment.

“Uh, Noel.”

“What, baby?”

The endearment made her feel special. Cherished. It had been a long time since she'd been held in a man's arms and caressed. Apparently too long, or she wouldn't be reacting like this—like a foolish teenager in heat.

“Noel, I think we should stop.”

Immediately, his hands ceased their roaming. He held her at arm's length and stared deeply into her eyes. “Do you really want me to?”

She was never good at lies. She didn't necessarily want him to, more like she needed him to. She paused a beat too long.

“Oh, baby, I'm taking you to bed.” His warm breath seared her skin. He scooped her into his arms and headed in the direction of what must be his bedroom

You Tarzan, me Jane,
she thought, deciding to go with the flow.

In Noel's bedroom, she got a fleeting impression of champagne walls, oak floors, cathedral ceilings, and an old pot-belly stove. He set her down on a cream-colored comforter and got in bed beside her. Holding her close, his warm hands created patterns against her exposed flesh, stroking, probing, exploring. She no longer thought of the consequences, simply opened up to him.

Noel's hands were at the clasp of her bra, working the hooks free, releasing her aching breasts. The confining scrap of material he pushed high against her neck. His lips suckled her breasts, and the tip of his tongue traced a sleek path from breasts to belly button. Eden squirmed against him, letting his hands cup her buttocks, pulling her closer. At last she could feel the full, glorious length of him. He was as excited as she was. She brushed her hand against his groin to let him know she wanted him.

His hand cupped hers, trapping further movement. The bulge she held in her palm served to make every nerve ending throb. Her body was on fire, and only this man had the salve to ease that burn. She pressed her body even closer.

Noel's hands moved upward to cradle her face. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her, his expression unreadable.

“God, I want to love you, baby,” he said in a husky voice.

“Love me then.” She'd thrown down the gauntlet.

Noel paused, apparently surprised by her brazenness. “Help me undress.”

She helped pull the polo shirt over his head, found the zipper of his Dockers, and when it was undone, lowered his shorts and briefs simultaneously.

The expression on her face must have been priceless because he said, “Like something you see?”

She chuckled, embarrassed to be caught staring. “Very much.”

Who was this gasping hussy? Certainly not her.

Noel's hands made short work of the open blouse and dangling bra. He practically pried her jeans off. She was left only in rose-colored lace panties. In seconds he straddled her, supporting the bulk of his weight on powerful arms.

Eden inhaled the clean, fresh smell of soap and subtle aftershave. Drakkar. She'd know that scent anywhere. Nothing smelled better on a man. Combined with Noel's own personal fragrance, she would need no further aphrodisiac. Slowly, he eased himself down the length of her, his hands performing magic on her body, making every sense come alive, every tiny inch of skin long for his touch. She let her mind go blank and from some far-off spot, registered his fingers inching below the elastic of her panties, stroking, probing and loving. In response; her hand grasped his shaft, hips bucking against him in a sensual dance.

“Honey,” Noel gasped against her lips, his breath a warm elixir. “I think we're ready. I just need to get protection.”

Impatiently she watched him fumble through the drawer of the nightstand and remove a foil package. Barely able to hold on, she helped him sheath himself. Noel entered her slowly as if she were a fragile piece of china he'd been entrusted with. When he'd filled her up, he started a series of slow strokes that quickly built in intensity. Eden wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him into her, forcing him to give her everything.

The shrill ringing of the phone cut through the noises of their lovemaking. What now? Eden's legs locked around Noel, slowing his movements.

“The phone's ringing,” she rasped, pointing out the obvious.

“The machine will pick up eventually.” His finger outlined the hollow of her neck. His lips burnt a brand against her skin.

“What if it's important?”

“Nothing's more important than you and me right now.” The finger moved to her clavicle. He gave another thrust. “Admit it. You need me as much as I need you.”

It was the
you need me
that got her. What the hell was he talking about? She'd never needed a man. Wanted them, yes. But need implied dependency. Implied you were unable to cope on your own. She had never needed anyone that badly. Not even Rod.

Though her body throbbed, she ground out, “Look, maybe this wasn't a good idea.”

“Says who?”

‘‘Says…”

The answering machine clicked on, and a man's gruff voice blared over it, “Hey Rob, time to talk turkey, man. What's taking you so long to get that information? Just boink the Sommers chick, and get it over with, man.”

“
E
den
, please, it's not like it sounds. I can explain.”

Tears blurred her vision as she pushed out of his arms, rolled off the bed, scrambled to find her discarded clothes, and quickly stepped into her jeans.

“Listen to me, baby. Gary's probably been drinking. He wasn't using his brain. He was just mouthing off.”

Eden raced from the room, tugging on her shirt.

“Please, baby, hear me out,” Noel called after her.

Tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks, Eden could barely concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. She managed somehow to find his front door, fasten her hands around the knob and let herself out. Covering her ears with her hands, she shut out his pleas but not the terrible words she'd heard on his answering machine. Even as she raced down the front steps, she could still hear the man's voice repeating the words. “What's taking you so long to get the information? Just boink the Sommers chick…”

She'd already let him do that.

She'd bought Noel Robinson's bill of goods, hook, line and sinker. His interest in her had never been real. All along he'd been warming her up for the kill. He'd do anything to get his story. Even sleep with her.

She ignored his shouts, concentrated on not falling and navigated her way down the stairs.

“Eden,” Noel pleaded, “please wait up.”

Fat chance of that happening. She kept going, knowing time was on her side, that it would take him a while to struggle into his clothes and come after her.

Noel yelled louder, apparently not caring if the whole neighborhood heard. “Eden, I'm sorry. What can I say? My boss is an insensitive clod. It's not like it sounded.”

His boss was an idiot. That much was obvious. Still, she wasn't about to listen to feeble explanations or more of his lies. What excuses could he come up with now that he'd been found out? It was crystal clear he'd never really cared about her, that he'd been using her all along. He'd played on her sympathy, telling her that story about his friend who'd died in the crash. Most likely the whole thing had been made up. To think she'd just let him have her.

As she raced down the driveway, the tip of her shoe connected with a ceramic flowerpot. She pitched forward and slid on the slick pavement. Grabbing at air, she went down hard and connected with the wet asphalt. Her palms throbbed. The ache was nothing compared to that of her shattered heart. How could she have come so close to falling in love with a sleazeball like Noel Robinson, or whatever his name was?

“Baby, are you hurt?”

He'd caught up with her.

Refusing to look at him, she grunted something unintelligible.

Noel crouched down, wrapped his hands around her waist, and eased her into a sitting position. His fingers brushed the tears from her eyes even as his large palms cupped her face, forcing her to look at him, “Tell me where it hurts.”

Disgusted at herself that his touch still had the power to evoke such strong feelings, she snapped, “Get your hands off me.”

Ignoring her attempts to shrug out of his arms, he pressed her face against his chest, and stroked her hair. “I'm here for you, baby. Cry all you want. We can always talk later.”

How smooth he was, insensitive too, pretending he didn't know he'd caused her hurt. Still, the tears flowed freely. She felt like a fool. She let him cuddle her, not caring anymore.

A raindrop splattered her cheek, followed by another and another. A few seconds later the downpour came. Soon she was soaked to the bone. Oblivious that she was drenched, her head remained on his chest. She could not summon the strength to move, much less piece together the remnants of a heart that could never be whole again.

“We'll catch pneumonia,” Noel eventually said, putting her away from him. “Why don't we go back to my house and talk?”

His voice and the craziness of the situation finally registered. Why was she clinging to a man who cared nothing about her? Why was she allowing him to comfort her? Why was she even listening to him?

“I'm going home.” She sniffed, pushing away.

“Okay, I'll see you home then.”

“Like hell you will.”

Ignoring her outburst, he smoothed her wet hair and pulled her against his sinewy body into a standing position. “After you take a hot shower, we'll do some serious talking. You'll let me explain.”

Despite her anger, her body pulsed. Eventually she regained her equilibrium, tugged out of his grip, and headed home.

“We will talk,” he yelled, following her.

In her current mood, she wasn't willing to talk, much less listen. Why devote the time? He'd just feed her another pack of lies. Just like the story he'd told about making a living as a furniture designer.

As she strode toward her front door, he caught up with her.

“Dammit, Eden. Can't you bend a little? I'm willing to apologize for something I didn't even do. Making love to you wasn't some strategic plan. It was something that happened. Something we both wanted. Why let my jerk of a boss turn it into something distasteful?”

Ignoring his pleas, she pushed the door open. The phone was ringing as she entered. She'd forgotten to turn the answering machine on again. Torn between answering and shutting the door in his face, she lingered too long on the threshold. Kahlua seized the opportunity to bound across the floor, scoot between her legs, and jump into Noel's arms.

Eden watched Noel hug the feline close. So much for getting rid of him quickly. She would answer the phone and murder the treacherous cat later. A conversation with anyone would buy her time and help regain her composure. She raced across polished wooden floors and dove for the receiver.

“Hello.”

Static crackled through the earpiece.

“Hello,” she repeated.

“Last night was only a warning,” an eerily familiar voice said. “You and Robbins are going to get seriously hurt if you…”

“Who is this?” her voice cracked.

“That's not important. What's important is that you stop snooping. I know you got hold of the logs…”

“Why are you doing this…”

The sentence ended as she surrendered the receiver to Noel's tugging hand. He set Kahlua down, and although he said nothing, his eyes blazed fire. He listened for a moment, and without uttering a word hung up.

Afterward, he stood facing her, the cleft in his chin even more pronounced. “How many of these calls have you gotten?”

“What?” She turned away from him.

“How many calls, Eden?” His hand rested on her shoulder. She could hear the concern in his voice and felt compelled to turn around.

“This is only the second. You were here when the first came.” Hang ups didn't count—or did they?

In a deadly quiet voice he said, “You'd better be telling me the truth.”

She nodded, and his fingers kneaded her shoulders. Her entire body sagged against him. He caught her just as her knees buckled. Her stomach lurched, indicating she was about to be sick. She quickly covered her mouth.

“Where's your bathroom?” he asked.

She made a wild gesture toward the hallway. Half carrying her, he headed in the direction she'd indicated.

They just made it.

Afterward, he held a cool towel to her forehead.

“Feeling better?”

Embarrassed that he'd witnessed her weak moment, she nodded.

“Want to lie down?”

“Yes.”

He held her by the elbow and guided her up the hallway. Too weak to assume he had an ulterior motive, she pointed toward her bedroom. He picked her up like he would a child and placed her on the bed.

“I'll get you a glass of water,” Noel said, setting her down on an intricately woven comforter. “And a pail,” he added as an afterthought, quickly retracing his steps.

After he left, the phone rang again. Eden felt her stomach muscles tense and another wave of nausea threaten. She still hadn't had time to turn the answering machine on.

On the fifth ring, Noel returned to her side, set the glass of water on the nightstand, and placed the pail she normally used for mopping next to the bed. “I'll get it, if you'd like,” he said.

Eden nodded, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

“Hello.” Noel covered the mouthpiece, looked over at her and whispered, “They're still hanging on. Hello,” he repeated. Then after another second or so, “They just hung up.”

He caught her by the shoulders, positioning her over the bucket as another wave of nausea hit.

L
ater that evening
, Noel sprawled on his couch pretending to read a Stephen King novel. He stared at page after page, the print blurring before his eyes. This business with Eden still hadn't been resolved. He knew she must still be upset. But he hadn't had the heart to have an open, honest discussion, not when she'd been so sick. He'd stayed with her until she'd fallen asleep, figuring that tomorrow was soon enough to address the situation. Now he regretted putting off the conversation. Tossing the book on the coffee table, he paced the room and decided he needed air.

Outside, a balmy spring breeze greeted him. The smell of salt lay heavy in the air as he inhaled deeply. Lacing his fingers together, he placed his wrists against the railing of the terrace. What to do about Eden Sommers? When exactly had she become more than a means to an end? He'd already made a cardinal mistake, allowing her to get under his skin. Thoughts of her now filled every waking moment. It was that damn vulnerability that drew him, that, and an overwhelming need to hold her and protect her from all that was wrong with the world. He'd come to realize she was unlike his ex-wife, Gayle. Not much ever fazed that one.

Impulsively, he made up his mind. He would go to Eden, try talking to her. How long did nausea last anyway? He would get on his knees if that's what it took to convince her to accept his apology. Even so, was it worth it? If he did manage to smooth things over, wouldn't she eventually come to hate him? They were on opposing missions after all. For Ty's sake, he needed to prove that Rodney Joyner had played a major role in Flight 757's crash.

Eden, on the other hand, was equally determined to prove her dead fiancé's innocence. It was a no-win situation all around. Still, at the very least, he owed her an apology. Gary's words had been unnecessarily crude. They had hurt her badly. Never mind that they'd made him look like a scurvy dog. And despite his efforts to appear cool, Eden's opinion of him did matter.

Before he could change his mind, Noel raced into the house, tugged on a pair of Bass loafers and headed out.

The rain had stopped, and a dreary black night greeted him. At the rear of Eden's house, Noel peered through sliding glass doors. He was surprised to find her in what had become a familiar position. She sat hunched over the kitchen table, sifting through what must be a week's worth of mail. Smoke curled from a crystal ashtray to her right. Noel grimaced.

An overhead light shone directly down on her hair, turning her wild mass of curls into interesting shades of copper and brown. A smile replaced his frown. He remained spellbound, captivated by the picture she made.

His hand reached out to rap on the glass but never made it. She seemed to sense his presence, looked up staring vaguely in his direction, her fingers twirling red-rimmed spectacles.

He rapped softly. A hand clutching her chest, Eden sprang from the chair.

Noel pressed his face against the glass and waved. She approached the door cautiously. “Who's there?”

“Noel.”

For what seemed a long time she fumbled with the locks, eventually sliding the door open. Arms crossed, she faced him. “What do you want?”

“May I come in?”

She seemed reluctant at first, then moved aside.

“Obviously you're much better,” he said, looking in the direction of the smoking ashtray and sweeping a wisp of hair from her forehead. She swatted his hand away. He crinkled his nose. The acrid smoke from the smoldering butt hung heavy in the air.

Eden followed his gaze. “I only had one drag,” she offered as explanation. “It made me nauseous.”

Noel pursed his lips. “Perhaps you'll quit then.” He took her hand. “Can we talk?”

She sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. “What's there to say that hasn't been said?”

“You misinterpreted a comment earlier today. I want you to know how sorry I am. Those words should never have been said.”

“No need to apologize. There was no misunderstanding what I heard.”

He squeezed her hand. “Look this isn't easy. Can we sit down?”

She waved in the direction of a chair. “If you must.” They both remained standing. To cover the awkward moment, he stubbed her cigarette out and put the ashtray on the counter. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I'm sorry you heard that message. Gary had no business saying what he did. At times he can be a real pig. I hope you know I would never discuss you in those terms.”