Sara's Surprise (11 page)

"Evasive woman," he grumbled. "If your attitude was a meal, what would it be?"

She grinned. "Oysters. Still in the shell."

"I'm an expert at opening oysters."

"Are you an oyster connoisseur, or just a pearl thief?"

"Both."

This was like an italian trapeze act, Sara thought. The Flying Innuendos. It was dangerous for the untrained to attempt, and her recklessness was going to send her for a hard fall. "Eat your attitude before it gets cold," she ordered.

And then, like a woman enjoying a wonderful meal after a long, dull diet, she put a large spoonful of chili into her mouth and smiled with guilty pleasure.

Since his cooking provoked such an interesting exchange of information, Kyle got up before dawn the next morning to fix breakfast. She'd mentioned that she was an early bird, as he was, but he couldn't imagine that she'd be out classifying species of worms this early. He drew a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt over his thermal underwear, put on two pairs of socks, and padded out of his room, shivering a little. Central heating didn't do a hell of a lot of good in a castle.

He was startled to see the kitchen light on; even more startled to find her asleep with her head on the kitchen table, a half-finished cup of coffee sitting near one outflung hand. A blue robe covered her from neck to ankles. Kyle pressed his lips together tightly to keep from laughing when he saw her sophisticated footwear.

Dr. Scarborough favored giant, fuzzy, tiger-striped bedroom slippers with whiskers and plastic eyes on the fronts. Those shoes endeared her to him. He would have loved to stroke her hair, but that being too much like a caress, he simply shook her shoulder a little. "Wake up, tiger-toes."

"Morning," she said raspily, squinting up at him.

He frowned at the exhaustion in her face. "Did you work all night?"

She nodded, looking dazed and groggy. "Most."

"Why?"

"Uhmmm, uhmmm" She frowned, moved her hands around on the table in vague patterns as if sorting through answers, and finally said, "My plants are like babies. Uh-huh. You never know when they're going to grow teeth." Satisfied with that explanation, she put her head down on the table and fell asleep again.

"Plants with teeth," Kyle teased under his breath. "I hope there's a rabies shot for philodendrons." He took her under both arms and lifted her to her feet.

Her chin and eyelids rose slowly, until she could finally see him. "Hmmm?"

"I'm going to cany you to your bedroom."

"Good plan."

He scooped both arms under her and lifted her easily. With her softness cradled against him and her head resting trustingly on his shoulder he could have carried her to the next state and back if she'd wanted him to. He caught the scent of her unusual perfume again; he'd never smelled anything quite like it before. It reminded him of the sweet, milky smell of a puppy which was a compliment, though he doubted she'd agree. Few women wanted to be told that they smelled like a dog.

He walked through the great room and entered the main hallway. When he reached the double doors of her suite he tested them with a foot, and one swung open. From the corner of his eye he noted that the strange extra door in one wall was shut and undoubtedly locked.

But mysterious doors were the least of his concerns at the moment. He carried Sara to the bed, a queen-size model atop a simple base of dark wood. It was neatly covered in a green comforter with delicate print sheets that peeked out at the top. There was very little evidence that she'd slept on it the night before.

She sank gratefully onto the comforter and burrowed her head on a pillow encased in material that matched the sheets. Everything about her and her bed was fresh and neat and wholesome, Kyle thought, but it wasn't a prim, don't-touch wholesomeness.

On the contrary, with the incandescent light of dawn slipping over her she looked infinitely touchable. He made a low sound of frustration as his body tightened into a fierce protest against not touching her. Kyle busied himself by pulling the comforter and sheets out from under her.

She murmured a compelling sound of appreciation when he removed her funny slippers. He couldn't let the harmless opportunity pass, so he rubbed her feet.

"Oh, Kyle." She sighed, sounding as if he'd just brought her to a peak of pleasure.

All right, so she knew what was happening and she wasn't unhappy about it. That didn't mean she wanted anything more. His hands trembling with restraint, he draped the bed coverings across her legs. He halted, staring at the thick terry-cloth tie around the waist of her robe. He ought to quit torturing himself right now and leave the room.

But he told himself he was in control; there wasn't anything wrong with just loosening her robe to make her more comfortable. Besides, he could see the neck of a floppy gray sweatshirt between the lapels. She certainly wouldn't be embarrassed to have him see more of that.

"Do you want me to help you take your robe off?" he whispered, trying to sound unaffected by the desperate heat racing through his body.

Her eyes still shut, she frowned as if thinking, but the limp-wristed way she dragged a hand over her forehead showed that nothing was coordinating very well. "Sure," she said eventually, and tried to help by fumbling with her tie.

He gently pushed her hands away and unfastened the knot. Unappealing sweatshirt regardless, his breath caught as he eased the robe apart. Her breasts were pert, pointed mounds under the soft material, and the area between the bottom of her shirt and the top of the bedcovers revealed several inches of sleek thigh and a hint of black silk panties.

Come-hither lingerie, a sweatshirt, and goofy-looking slippers with whiskers. The woman was sexy, athletic, and disarmingly unconcerned about having silly feet. It was a great combination. "Sit up, Sara," he ordered softly. "Pull your arms out of the robe."

She managed to prop herself up until he got the robe off. Then she sank back, tugged the covers up to her waist, and made an mmmm sound of happiness. Kyle tried to set a world record for procrastination as he fiddled with the robe, straightening it, folding it, unfolding it, and finally arranging it on the far corner of the bed, just so. He hated to leave her. Without touching her, without hoping for anything, he'd just like to stand and watch her sleep.

But he knew that he'd look ludicrousworse, lecherousif she woke up enough to realize that he was staring at her like a man who'd never seen a woman before. Plus waking up to his face wouldn't exactly make her day.

"Sweet dreams," he said, bending over her. He very lightly tucked the covers around her waist.

"Kyle." She sounded more as if she were dreaming than awake. Her hand settled on top of his, and the fingers stroked languidly, moving over a small white scar without hesitation.

His breath stalled when she pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the palm, her lips soft and incredibly smooth. The blood pounded in his ears. It wasn't just his loneliness or the basic need for a woman's touch that destroyed his control; it was Sara, sweet, strong Sara, who posed so many mysteries but offered so many answers.

Kyle cupped her face in his hand, turned it toward him, and held her gently while he lowered his mouth onto hers. He gave her a slow, thorough kiss that explored every fraction of her lips; a constantly changing kiss that tugged and caressed, slipping back and forth over her mouth, finding she was instantly agreeable. Her tender and giving response blinded him with feelings that he'd never had before, an intense blending of desire and emotion that brought tears to his eyes.

He sat down beside her, still kissing her and being kissed back, now with growing wildness as she became more awake. Her arms circled his neck and began to pull him closer. Renewed confidence sent happiness scorching through him. She needed him. They needed each other, and together they could erase every memory of Diego de Valdivia.

Kyle put one arm under her shoulders and rested a hand on her shirt, then sought one of her breasts and rubbed it with a very light, tantalizing pressure. She moaned against his mouth and arched her back; Kyle smiled, feeling giddy with amazement over her reaction. He lifted her a little and began to ease the sweatshirt up.

Abruptly her eyes opened, wide, startled, and directly on his ravaged features. One hand slid to the side of her head; she tugged at the wisps of hair over one ear as if she had to make sure it was she who was really on the verge of making love with him.

"No," she said, her voice and eyes anguished, but firm.

Kyle froze inside as the true scenario became evident. She hadn't thought too much about what was happening until she woke up enough to remember what he looked like. Until now she'd simply been in-

The incident taught her a new lesson about Kyle, one that made her watch him with adoring eyes. As the days passed, he never mentioned the heated moment again; he never even hinted at it. This man didn't brood, nor did he put up angry defenses to torment her.

Even though she had hurt him, rejected him, and undoubtedly bewildered him, he was still determined to rescue her from her seclusion. He was still her friend, and she could depend on him for help of any kind, anytime.

She couldn't accept that help. She couldn't encourage him to stay. If she treated him cruelly, it was for his own good. And Noelle's.

So Sara stayed away, avoiding every opportunity to talk to him. refusing to let him draw her out of her lab except for an occasional meal. She spent all her waking hours exploring worlds she could control, or at least view objectively. Struggling to put order back into her thoughts, she drove herself relentlessly. The slides under her microscope brought forth answers even when nothing in her confused emotions made sense. Re-

search was soothing, distracting. If only she were as good at examining and cataloging her feelings.

"You've made me a desperate man," Kyle announced one night toward the end of his first week at the castle. They had just finished dinner. She was headed back to her lab.

He stepped in front of the door that led from the great room. Blocking her exit without the least bit of hesitatlon, he crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of resistance. He wore a red plaid shirt, jeans, leather suspenders, and his hiking boots. Sara thought he looked like an angry lumberjack eyeing a tree that refused to fall.

"How can I help you if I never see you?" he asked.

Sara sidled over to the fireplace, watching him cautiousfy. She felt small and trapped. His blue eyes gleamed with fierce determination.