In From the Cold (4 page)

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

She nodded and he turned to me. “So what were you thinking, Miss Claire?”

I was thinking he looked even better this morning—his hair mussed, his jaw stubbled with whiskers.

I was thinking this glorious man loved his daughter, openly, tenderly.

I was thinking I should get the hell out of Dodge
fast
.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets so he couldn’t see them tremble and prayed my voice wouldn’t betray me.

“If it’s okay…I’d like to take the girls into town. There’s an indoor pool with a big kiddie area. Then maybe stop by a T-O-Y-S-T-O-R-E. There isn’t much here for girls their age.”

“That sounds fantastic. Maybe I’ll skip the brunch and come with y’all.” He beamed, and I relaxed, just like that.

“You’d be welcome.”

He gazed at me for a moment, measuring my response, then looked down at Suzie, smoothing his hand over her hair, possessive and loving. I felt my bones melt again.

An annoyed voice intruded and shattered the moment. “Seriously, Drake, a pool? Don’t you think Fritz would be a bit miffed?” We’d both forgotten about Sharon. She still waited in the door, tapping her lethal lacquered nails impatiently on her arm. Drake scratched his head and then ruefully nodded at her.

“You’re right. I should be there today.” He sighed and Sharon smirked triumphantly at me behind his back. I smiled sweetly. She’d get no rise from me—
Cruella.

“I’d really like to, but that would be pretty rude of me to go off on the first day.” He squeezed Suzie’s shoulder. “Another time, Birdie?”

“Okay, Daddy,” Suzie said. She patted his leg, then took Yvette’s hand and pulled her over to the window seat, chattering away to a silent, solemn Yvette.

He walked over to me, his sweatpants hanging on his hips. My face felt hot, flushed. Thank goodness I had a sweater on; my nipples must be waving flags. It was all I could do not to reach for him.

I made myself step back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

And that bothered me too. My reaction to him was just that—
all mine
. Again.

Don’t do this
, I nagged myself fiercely.
He’s another world of hurt, waiting to happen.

“Let me give you some money for expenses—and if you see anything else you think Suzie needs, feel free.” He pulled four hundreds from his wallet and put them in my hand. I tingled at his touch. Static? I glanced up at him and he winked.

Yeah. Sparks, baby.

I couldn’t help it. A little grin slipped through my defenses.

“All settled then?” Sharon yawned from the doorway, oozing boredom. “Drake?”

“I’ll see you later.” He smiled at me, then turned and walked to the door. As he came up to Sharon, she placed her hand on his arm.

“Would you mind driving over together?” Her voice was deep, throaty. “We haven’t seen each other in so long, it’ll be just like old times.”

“I guess.” He stepped away from her hand, his expression bemused. I let out a breath, surprised by my feeling of relief. Then I remembered I had a job to do.

“Oh, Drake and Mrs., Miss—?”

“Lofton. That’s Lof-ton.” She glared at me, annoyed. Honestly, was she ever not annoyed? Behind her, Drake rolled his eyes and I tamped down an answering grin. I was determined to be professional about this, and while I might not like her, Sharon was Yvette’s mother.

“Could I have your phone numbers, just in case?”

“Oh, sure.” Drake walked back to his room and returned in moments, pulling a card from his wallet, then walked over and pressed it into my hand. “Call anytime—don’t hesitate.” Another bone melted. He was turning me into mush.

“Well,
don’t
call me. Just deal with it, okay?” Her eyes raked over me again, then glanced at Drake. I could almost hear her gears turning, her tactics shifting. “You’re a capable young woman, I’m sure—and Yvette’s no trouble at all—with the right person.” She arched a brow at me, clearly indicating any problems would be my fault. She waved to Yvette in her window seat. “Bye bye now, darling. Be a good girl for your nanny.” She smoothed her hair with a world-weary gesture. “If anything comes up, Miss Iverson, I’m counting on your good care. I intend to have my hands full this afternoon.” She cut a heated glance toward Drake. “Very full.” Then she slithered out the door.

Words failed me.

Drake grinned and shook his head, then walked over and kissed Suzie’s crown.

“Be good now, Birdie, and have fun. Listen to Miss Claire.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He finally turned to me.

“Thanks again for your help this morning—and for everything last night.” His hazel eyes were warm. He seemed reluctant to go, and he searched my face as if looking for permission to stay. I don’t know what he saw, but I hoped I hid the longing I felt. I glanced at the girls, but they were talking to their toys, paying no attention to us. I looked back at him. He smiled and playfully touched my nose. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I couldn’t breathe and felt my whole body tighten, then tremble. Then he turned and left the room.

Inside, I was jumping up and down.
It wasn’t just me. It wasn’t just me!

Then I looked back at the girls.
For Christ’s sake, I’m the nanny. I’m nobody.

But my nose still tingled where he’d touched me.

My nose.

I was so screwed.

Chapter Six

Drake

What a day.

I pulled my formal bowtie loose and sipped the champagne in my hand. The limousine was almost too warm, although the air outside registered zero. We were finally headed back to the guesthouse, back to Suzie and Claire and Yvette. Then I felt it—her foot—again.

Sharon’s pointed shoe was easing up my pants leg, caressing my ankle and calf. She’d been like a barnacle all day—first at the brunch, four mimosas to the wind and practically in my plate—then later during the tour of the Fritzes’ estate, constantly snuggling and shivering with mock cold. As if the most frozen thing in Jackson wasn’t her heart.

Then at dinner, falling out of her red spandex dress, rocking unsteadily on six-inch heels, she’d gotten sloppier, louder, screechier, until for everyone’s sake, I’d offered to see her home. She tittered predictably, her not-so-subtle signal that she’d snagged the man she’d dangled for all day. Another fish story in the making. Pathetic.

A wave of pity swamped me.
Damn it, Miles. What did you do to her?

Sharon had been gorgeous—vivacious and fun—and caring once, a long time ago. Our college homecoming queen senior year. I remembered that afternoon on the football field, Sharon with a tiara in her hair and a bouquet of beribboned roses, radiantly happy and in love with Miles, my best friend. A far cry from the Sharon on the seat opposite—drunk, makeup melted on her face, her dress too tight and hair too bleached.

I could strangle Miles. More wreckage left in his wake.

“Draaaake…” she whined, her foot sliding up my leg again, more insistent. “You’re so far away over there. I’m cold. Come warm me up.”

“Sharon. Cut it out.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You’re drunk.”

She pouted. I heard rustling and then felt her hands on my thighs in the darkness. I gripped her wrists before she could move any farther.

“Sharon. No means no.”

“Come on, Drake. Don’t you remember how good it was? How good we were—together?”

“
We.
Were. Never
.
Together. That was Miles.”

I pushed her hands firmly back in her lap, but she lunged at me, throwing her arms around my neck and running her hands through my hair. I groaned, exasperated, but she took it as sexual frustration and rubbed herself against me.

“But I always wanted you. Don’t you know that, sweetie?” She dipped her tongue in my ear. “It’s been
such
a long time, honey, and I’ve learned a lot since then. So much,” she crooned, her voice low, husky. “Things you would like…” She nipped my earlobe and ran her tongue from my ear to my neck. One hand slipped toward my crotch.
Jesus.

I grabbed her hand and threw her onto the seat opposite. She was like an octopus—hands everywhere and just as slimy. She made me want all right—a hot shower with lots of soap.

“Why not, Drake?” Her tone hardened. “Afraid to get it up again? After Wanda?”

Maybe my rejection was finally getting through to her.

“Wanda’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Then why, Drake? You’re single, free, male. I’m single, free, female. We have a house to ourselves—or as good as. I don’t see the problem.”

“Not interested.” I stared out the window.

I heard her breathing in the dark, thinking, considering. Then she patted my knee, sloppily, then almost rolled off her seat as the car made a turn. I hoisted her back on her seat and held her steady. She threw her arms around my neck, and I could smell smoke and bourbon, scents I associated with depressing smoky bars and loneliness.

“Not yet, but you know I love a challenge.” She sounded determined. “And I’ve got two whole weeks. I can wait.”

I didn’t answer, busy trying to peel her hands from my neck. I was relieved when the driver finally pulled up to the door. Sharon slid across my lap to leave on my side, rubbing her breast provocatively against my chest.

“Night-night, sugar,” she breathed. “Sweet dreams.” She stepped from the car, teetered on her heels, and then staggered to the house.

I rubbed my hand over my face. It was going to be a long two weeks.

I waited a minute to make sure she had reached her room, then entered the house and climbed up the stairs to Suzie’s room. By the glow of the night-light, I saw both Suzie and Yvette snuggled together, Ontidi and Meow clasped in their arms. I kissed them good night, inhaling the comforting scent of baby shampoo and clean little girls. What a contrast from the “girl” I had just left. Had Sharon once been like this? I felt another wave of pity for her, but right now, it was hard to imagine, and a surge of protectiveness gripped me as I gazed down at these two. At least here, there was freshness and innocence, and I vowed to protect them as long as I could.

I drifted to my room, shed my tux and climbed into flannel lounge pants and a gray T-shirt. I slipped down the hall to the great room, hoping Claire was still up.

She was.

I drank in the sight of her. She sat curled in the corner of the sofa, a small fire burning in the fireplace, a fleece blanket spread over her lap. She held a glass of wine in one hand, a book in the other, while Adele’s throaty voice crooned softly in the background. She looked peaceful and cozy, like a hot toddy after a long cold day, waiting to warm me inside and out.

And I was thirsty, definitely thirsty.

She looked up, smiled, and suddenly, I was having a great day.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

I walked across the room, then leaned over the couch to see what she was reading and caught a whiff of her scent. I knew she’d smell wonderful and she did, like fleece and fire and snow and Claire.

“How were they today?” I moved to sit beside her, keeping distance, however unwillingly, between us. She seemed jumpy, nervous. I couldn’t read her, and I waited cautiously.

“Fine. They were fine.” She took a sip of wine, then nudged a lock of hair behind her ear. I realized I was staring, and I shook my head.

“That looks good.” I nodded at her wine.

“Would you like some? There’s plenty.” She started to get up, but I waved her back.

“Stay put. I’ll get it. Do you want more?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass, then sat down again, a little closer this time. She still seemed stiff, her body rigid. She laid her book aside, but she kept her eyes on the wine swirling in her glass.

“So how did it go?”

She glanced up at me.

“The girls? They were fun. The driver—James—took us to the pool, and we stayed there for about three hours. It’s a great place, with a nice little lunch stand. Then we stopped at Walmart on the way back and bought some toys, some puzzles and a few books.”

“Did I give you enough to cover everything?” This felt so domestic, so comfortable, so
sane.
For the first time all day, my body, except for one persistent throb, relaxed.

“Oh yes, I have your change, but I should tell you—” She bit her lip. “I used some of it on clothes for Yvette. I’ll tell Mrs. Lofton so she can pay you back.”

“Now why would you do that?” I didn’t want to give Sharon any more excuses to talk to me, legitimate or otherwise, but I wasn’t going to tell Claire that.

“Well, why should you pay for Yvette’s clothes?”

“I’m good for it.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to bring money into our conversation, but it had been a long time since I’d worried about four hundred dollars. Shit, Wanda had paid twice that for a pair of shoes she might wear once. “She’s a cutie and she makes Suzie happy. Besides, I’m an old friend of her father’s, and hell, once upon a time, her mother’s.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Miles and I go way back. We were buddies in high school, then roomed together in college. And Sharon was Miles’s girlfriend in college and then his wife. So yeah, I’ve known them since rocks.”

“Do you still keep up?”

“No. We’re both really busy and…well, we tote a lot of baggage.”

“Oh.”

Oh
didn’t begin to cover it, but having spent the day swamped in memories because of Sharon, I didn’t want to go there now.

“So what did you get?” I sipped the wine and leaned my head back, eager to hear the trivial details of her day. She sat a foot away, but I felt so aware of her. I noticed everything—how tiny she was, the freckle on her neck, the one behind her ear. I wondered idly what it would taste like. I crossed my feet on the coffee table, shamelessly cutting a few inches closer and feeling pathetic. What was I? Fifteen?

She didn’t seem to notice. She thought for a moment, then blew out a deep breath. “A hat, gloves, parka, warm pants, some tops, boots, flannel PJs.” Then she sipped her wine, her eyes trained on her glass, her tone carefully neutral. “Cold-weather basics.”

Basically everything, in other words. Damn Sharon. Was she going for “Most Inept Mom” award?

“Is that enough? Does she need anything else?” I wondered if Miles knew this was going on—not that it would make any difference.

She smiled at me and patted my hand. I twinged, electrified by her slight touch. Sharon had all but mauled me, but I’d never once reacted to her like that.

“I’ll let you know. You’re a good man to care.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do care.” She wore a college ring on her right hand, but no other jewelry. An image of Sharon and the dozen other women at the party tonight played across my mind. Walking clichés, all of them, with their heavy jewelry, thick makeup, perfumes, dyed hair, Botox treatments—living mannequins and trophy wives—layer cakes of fake charm and desire, iced with desperation. Claire couldn’t be more different. She was fresh air and clean skin, exactly what she seemed to be. And I wanted her.

That awareness hit me hard, and I jockeyed my wineglass to camouflage my too-obvious response. Maybe she sensed my mood, because she suddenly shifted away from me.

“Mr. Driscoll.”

“Drake.”

She turned toward me, her lashes thick, her eyes deep blue. A few freckles spangled her nose too, and I wanted to kiss each one.

“You should know that—” she paused as if gauging the distance before diving in, “—I really enjoyed talking with you last night, especially since we started off so badly on the plane, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be…”

She bit her bottom lip, and I tried to focus on her words, I really did, but they sounded like static on a radio. I wanted that lip, could feel, even now, my tongue tasting it, my teeth nibbling it.

“…alone together…too much…I really like you.”

She paused, finally taking a breath, and waited for a response. I tried to make sense of what she’d just said and failed, so I grabbed at the one thing that had slipped through my fog of desire.

She liked me. I seized that thought, let it stoke my fire. She must have read it on my face. I heard her suck in her breath, all the encouragement I needed.

I bent down and kissed her.

She tasted of wine and sweet Claire. I nibbled softly, slowly, afraid she’d pull away, her lips as soft and warm as I’d imagined. She moaned and I paused, taking our wineglasses and putting them on the table. Then I cupped her face, the seconds stretching between us. She closed her eyes, and I kissed her again, gently at first, but when she opened her lips, I swept in, stroking and caressing her mouth. She was like a mountain pool, my tongue skinny-dipping in sensations of cool mouth and sensuous tongue, and then I was drowning. I pulled her in and held her close.

She gasped when I broke away, her voice far away in my lust-filled fog.

“Mr. Driscoll,” she breathed. I tasted the skin under her ear, and then roamed down her neck to the freckle that had teased me earlier. It tasted like…cinnamon, I decided, flicking it with my tongue, definitely spicy.

“Mr. Driscoll,” she repeated.

“Drake,” I whispered, nipping the bend of her neck and shoulder. She smelled of rose soap and faintly of chlorine. “It’s Drake.”

“But we shouldn’t.” She arched her neck.

“Why not?” My tongue followed.

She breathed raggedly. “I work for you.”

“Not really.” I peeled her shirt down her shoulder. Ahh, another juicy freckle. This one…vanilla…

“But…” She tried to move back, and I pulled her closer and nuzzled her neck, unwilling to let her retreat from my lips.

“You work for the Fritzes. Your free time is yours,” I murmured, trailing more kisses across her collarbone. I felt her shiver, and my hands burned to touch her skin.

“But I hardly know you.”

My hands caressed her breasts through her sweater, her nipples hard little peaks. With an effort, I willed my hands not to delve beneath her clothes. “Then get to know me.” And I claimed her mouth once more.

Her hands rasped through my hair, her desire fanning my flames even higher. She was kissing me back, her tongue playing and twisting with mine, her sounds bewitching me. My body took over, my brain reduced to ash by my overwhelming need to bury myself in her warm depths or die. I cradled her in my arms and stood up.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, bewildered, squirming in my arms as I started toward the hall.

“My room.”

“No, no. Let me down.
No
!” She struggled loose, frantic, and I barely caught her before she fell. Even in my lust-filled haze, I knew something was wrong. She was breathing hard, her cheeks flaming, her terror and sudden change all out of proportion. She leaned against the hall wall, her arms wrapped protectively around her, rocking her body, shaking her head, as if I had attacked her. No woman had reacted to me like this before. I was totally confused.

“No, no, no,” she moaned. “I can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t.”

Had I misread her cues? Her moans, her kisses, her nipples—no, she was into me too. So what was going on?

“Sweetheart? What is it?” I whispered, reaching out to her, but she flinched away. “What’s wrong? We don’t have to…I just thought— Look, I’m sorry. Really.”

“I. Can’t. Do. This.” Her eyes were shut tight, tears forming on her lashes.

“Hey, it’s okay. Shhh. It’s all right.” I reached for her again and this time she came to me, letting me hold her, my hands gently rubbing her back. “Shhh.”