Hot Touch (6 page)

She was suddenly in serious danger of smiling widely, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug, and thereby confirming his suspicion that she was nuts.

“I did a stupid thing. I’m honestly sorry,” she blurted out.

He was so astonished by her apology that he just stared at her. “You’re driving me crazy,” he finally managed to say.

“Good. Now let me go. I’d rather not spend the entire morning straddling your leg.”

At that his eyes became devilish and his smooth Cajun patois deepened, making him sound wicked and exotic. “Your body, she knows how to start a friendship better than you do, yes? Why are you squeezing me with your thighs?”

“I’m trying not to fall over!”

His voice dropped lower. “Oh, I won’t let that happen, not before I do this.”

He dipped his head, his eyes open and burning into hers as he started to kiss her. She was breathing so hard that she swayed in his powerful embrace. But she didn’t push him away.

His mouth came down on hers, rough and hot. She moaned against the delicious assault and returned it.

The furry thing that shoved against their legs wasn’t the least bit shy about intruding.

“What the … well,
bonjour
!” Paul exclaimed.

He drew back, frowning. Dazed, Caroline stared at him, her mouth open, her body still intimately astride his leg. Finally she followed his gaze downward. His arm loosened reluctantly. She hopped back, grasping the fence for support.

“You interrupted me,” he told the newcomer, shaking his head in rebuke.

“You saved me,” Caroline added drolly.

Slowly she sank to her heels. She stared into steel-gray eyes and temporarily forgot what had just happened between her and Paul. Caroline knew that she’d never met an animal as noble as the one who stared back at her now. “Hello, Wolf,” she said politely.

Wolf tilted his head to one side, listening to the psychic greeting she conveyed also. He looked from her to Paul and back again. Then he plopped a paw on her shoulder and yipped softly, displaying the Labrador retriever hidden under his wild exterior.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Paul muttered.

“Probably,” Caroline assured him, but without true malice. She was caught up in Wolfs thoughts. The rush of communication was staggering, and his gleeful message unnerved her.

Happy! Good! Master no more lonely! Master takes a mate!

The atmosphere was electric in the aftermath of their tempestuous confrontation. Paul strode back to the house with Wolf at his heels, and she could tell that he was puzzled and annoyed by her effect on an animal he thought he understood completely.

Caroline, grinning, followed them through the house and into the kitchen. She sat down in a cane-bottom chair beside a massive, battle-scarred table that was little more than a slab of crudely finished timber atop legs as thick as her waist.

“I’ll have Wolf wrapped around my little finger by the
end of the day,” she announced. “He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

Without pausing to look at her, Paul uttered in French a one-word opinion of that claim. He slapped a coffee kettle under the sink faucet.

Caroline made a face at his well-formed back. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not. And if you’re going to insult me, do it in English. You’re as American as I am.”

“I’m Cajun, and proud of it. If you were Cajun, you’d understand.”

She made an odd, strangled sound that was so plaintive, he glanced at her over his shoulder. Paul wanted to ask what was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to forgive her for the panther incident, and for being so smug about Wolf, and especially for ruining his gallant intentions about women and friendship.

To hell with friendship. He wanted to chain Caroline Fitzsimmons to his bed, himself along with her, and see how long it would take for the two of them to scorch the sheets. Then they could discuss friendship.

“Swallow a bug?” he inquired.

She huffed in disgust. “You’re so transparent. I may be demanding and cocky, but you admire that. Admit, it, Belue, you’ve met your match.”

“Wolf likes you. Be happy with that.”

“Wolf is smarter than his master. He’s willing to give me a chance to do my job.”

He turned around and shook the kettle at her. “You talk too much.”

“Probably. I was an only child. It’s a habit.”

“Break it.”

He busied himself at the stove. She ogled him shamelessly. He had a great rump, and the thin tank top didn’t hide much of his magnificent back and shoulders.

This man would age well, adding a little more weight to his torso perhaps, but keeping the solid look of a
boxer’s physique. His shoulders moved fluidly, stirring his black hair where it brushed them.

His height and sturdy build fit the big table and oversize kitchen, she decided. His dark good looks made an intriguing contrast to the bright yellow floor tiles and white appliances.

The kitchen told her a lot about him. He looked comfortable, as if he spent a great deal of time there.

It was a plain but homey place, full of gourmet gadgets, many of them hanging from a wrought-iron rack over the stove. Cheerful yellow curtains covered a large window over the sink. Newspapers and science journals were scattered on the countertops.

A small cappuccino machine squatted on the counter that ran next to the refrigerator. Alongside the cappuccino machine sat a coffee grinder and glass canisters full of coffee beans.

“Dr. Blue, you’re a confusing man,” Caroline noted bluntly. “Practical and impractical at the same time. Your kitchen table looks like it was designed with a chain saw, what I saw of your beloved upstairs was spartan, and yet you indulge in gourmet kitchen toys.”

“Don’t talk to me,” he ordered. He went to the refrigerator and began stacking breakfast items in his arms.

Caroline gazed hungrily at an uncut cantaloupe, a carton of eggs, and a chunk of cheese. “How kind of you,” she said sweetly. “To cook for me.”

“I’m not cooking for you. Go eat with Frank.”

She should do that, she knew, but she rebelled at the thought of giving up Paul and Wolf’s company.

“I can’t,” she told him. “I’m studying Wolf.” That was true, at least. Wolf slumped on the floor, his dark gray head resting on his paws, his ears drooping.

After his momentary, misguided excitement over his master’s new friend, he’d become melancholy again. “Is this typical?” she asked Paul.

“Yeah. He’s been like that for a week.”

Caroline propped her chin on one hand and gazed at Wolf, hoping to pick up information. But he was a blank. She sensed a deep sorrow within him, but couldn’t pinpoint the source.

“After breakfast I’ll give him a massage. Frank can plan to start using him again this afternoon.”

Paul cracked eggs into an stoneware bowl with angry force. “Scrambled,” he announced.

“Undoubtedly. Yum.”

“Thought you were a knee-jerk vegetarian.”

“A moderate. I eat chicken and seafood on occasion.”

“How noble.”

“I just don’t like to eat anything that might have been a client. So far I haven’t trained a hen or a fish.” She sat down on the floor by Wolf and stroked his broad head. “I’ll get you back to top form, sweetheart.”

Wolf licked her hand. She glanced up and caught Paul watching them with chagrin. She stuck her tongue out at him and his expression darkened even more.

“All right, so Wolf likes you. But he’s going to be more trouble than you expected.”

“Everything here is more trouble than I expected. Complicated.”

“No,
chère
, it’s simple. I need Frank’s money, so I’ll put up with you. Wolf will snap out of his mood whether you work with him or not. You’ll go back to Beverly Hills and leave me alone.”

“Gladly,” she muttered.

“It’s nothing personal. I have a helluva workload around here, not enough help, not enough money, and the last thing I need is a complaining houseguest.” Paul turned to face her and spread his arms in an encompassing gesture. “Simplicity. My life-style.” He pointed to the cappuccino machine. “Simplicity makes small luxuries more enjoyable.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Even you’re simple.” He swept a taunting gaze
over her clingy blue maillot. “Easy to understand in all the important ways.”

“Or so you’d like to think.” Caroline leaned back warily and felt her heart pounding. He was remembering what had happened last night, and so was she.

“You’ve had the scar since you were a little girl. You hated it, so you became preoccupied with hiding behind an image. You’re always on guard. Especially around men.” He smiled knowingly, his eyes confident. “But let you get close to a lion tamer like me, and you purr.”

Caroline kept a neutral gaze directly on him while her stomach shuddered from the fear that he was right. “I’ll admit that we have a love-hate relationship.” She tilted her head jauntily. “You love to think you’re irresistible, and I hate to destroy your fantasy.”

To her surprise, he chuckled, a low, sexy sound. Respect filtered into his eyes. “Be glad I don’t feel like proving you wrong.”

“Thank you kindly for the reprieve. I’ll be too busy with Wolf to mope with disappointment. All I want is to finish this job and get as far away from magnolialand as I possibly can.”

“Why do you dislike the South?”

She sighed grandly. “Sir, behind my sweet and innocent manner rests a story too tragic for words.”

“Uh-huh. Sweet and innocent. Like a lady ’gator.”

Caroline placed a hand over her heart and shut her eyes. “I shan’t share it with a man of your sensitivity. It’s too, too sad.”

“Let’s see. You had a Southern beau. He dumped you in favor of someone more docile, like maybe a Hell’s Angel.”

Caroline dead-panned, “And that broad wore the
tackiest
brass knuckles.”

Paul stared at her in surprise. It was hard not to like a woman who could make fun of herself. It wasn’t what
he expected. They traded a look of tentative amusement until finally she coughed and looked away.

Paul noticed abruptly that her face was chalky. The color had begun to fade from her complexion when he’d asked why she didn’t like the South.

“Do you feel all right?” he asked with more concern than he’d intended. “Does talking about this subject really upset you?”

Her eyes became wary at his gentle tone. “No. You’re incredibly nosy.”

“I’m always curious to learn about new forms of wildlife.”

Paul picked up a dark red tomato from a wooden bowl by the sink. He leaned with deceptive laziness against the counter and bit into the tomato slowly, his eyes never leaving Caroline’s.

His actions were so slyly seductive that she studied him in silent disbelief, her lips parted. She’d never seen anyone eat a tomato this way before. He delicately sucked the pulp into his mouth and licked juice from the palm of his hand, using just the tip of his tongue.

He took another bite—no, it wasn’t so much a bite as it was a tugging motion that involved every inch of his lips. He didn’t just eat the tomato, he enjoyed it.

Caroline felt a relaxed, damp sensation spread outward between her thighs. The man wanted her to imagine his lips on something besides a tomato, and he’d succeeded.

She stood up, straightened her fringed skirt with quick little jerks of her hands, and frowned at him. “That’s indecent. And hardly original.”

He nodded, his blue eyes crinkling merrily.

She scanned him from head to toe. “Your weapons are grand, doc, but this is one warrior who’s seen it all before. Tomatoes are overrated. So is sex. I’ll eat with the movie crew. Have Wolf at Frank’s trailer in forty-five minutes.”

She turned on one heel and walked out of the kitchen. For the first time since they’d met, she heard him laugh, really laugh, as if he were having a fine time. It was a hearty, wonderful sound, and the only thing that made her teeth grind was the realization that he was laughing at her.

Wolf was like putty. She couldn’t penetrate the privacy of his mind, but she knew he loved having a massage. He lay on his side on the floor of Frank’s trailer, taking up all the walking room, his eyes closed blissfully. He weighed close to two hundred pounds and was at least six feet long from nose to tip of tail.

“So give me some background on the beast,” Caroline told Frank, who sat on a couch nursing a glass of Perrier and antacid.

“Wolf? Well, in the movie he—”

“Not Wolf-beast. Dr. Belue-beast,” Caroline corrected him. “Since you and he seem to be friends, I thought you could tell me about him.”

“Oh. What do you want to know?”

“Was he born around here or did he just crawl out of the swamp fully grown?”

Frank smiled. “His family settled this land more than two hundred years ago, when the British drove the French Acadians out of Canada. A ne’er-do-well ancestor lost the land to a rice planter in a card game. The planter built the mansion, but that glorious avenue of oak trees that leads to it was planted by the first Belue owner. Paul grew up not far from here, on the coast, where his family fished for a living. After he worked in New Orleans as an equine specialist for a few years, he came back home. I think he bought a couple thousand acres.”

“Not many Cajuns have that kind of money. Even a veterinarian.”

“He and his brothers were ambitious.”

“Big family?” She said the words sarcastically, to hide her envy.

“Yes. Five kids. Pretty scattered now, I understand. But very loving. Anyhow, when Paul was a teenager they found oil on a little strip of land they owned. Before oil prices went bust, they made a small fortune. Paul used his part to go to vet school. Like I mentioned the other day, he built up a pretty nice practice in New Orleans working with Thoroughbreds at the tracks. Gave it all up a couple of years ago to come down here and save the endangered whatever.”

Caroline frowned thoughtfully. “He’s dedicated. It’s obvious.”

“This place is his life. He nearly kills himself trying to keep it going. If he acts like a pain, it’s because he’s worried about it.”

“Hmmm.” Caroline’s fingers slid under Wolfs thick hair and stroked his neck. “Wolf adores him.” Plus the panther had shown respect when Paul came in his pen that morning, and the respect was genuine, not based on fear.