Authors: Maggie Marr
“What
wrong
message? That you are a beautiful woman who knows of her beauty? Who wears her beauty with strength, with power!”
Meg glanced at the shop owner. So emphatic, so confident, but Meg couldn’t be that woman. She’d be using her beauty much like her mother had used hers—for advancement by seduction. A perilous road Meg was determined to avoid. This dress, no matter how beautiful, how strong, how confident she might appear in it would only undermine how she wanted to present herself in business. To Cole and to the world. She didn’t want to confuse things. Wasn’t she confused enough already?
“I…I just can’t,” Meg said. She turned her back to the shop owner. The woman sighed as she unzipped the dress.
“Okay, señorita. But a dress like this? One that makes you so very beautiful, it may only come around twice in your lifetime. First a red one to get the man. And then a white one to marry him.”
*
The driver stopped in front of Papagayo Hermosa and Cole exited the car. He was early, but he had finished his research on Allison Morton and learned all that he needed to know for dinner tonight. He and Meg had one stop more to make—a research trip.
The feminine scents of perfume and lavender tickled Cole’s nose as he entered Papagayo Hermosa. Bright clothes like the feathers on an exotic bird dotted the store and the shop glittered with brilliant baubles. This was a place for women.
An older woman, round and with a happy face, stood behind the counter.
“Ah, you are here for the beautiful señorita.”
“I am indeed,” Cole said. “Did she meet with success?”
“Success?” The older woman quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps
she
thinks it is a success. But me? Perhaps I should just be satisfied to know I will get a sale today.”
Cole tilted his head. What was he missing?
The shop clerk looked over her shoulder toward the dressing room and then leaned forward. “This is the dress she should get,” she whispered to Cole.
Cole followed the woman’s gaze toward the red dress on the counter.
“But she says it’s not appropriate for dinner. I tell her that this is Central America—Costa Rica! Beauty and bright colors—it is in our soul. She lit up like a firework when she had it on.”
“What’s she wearing now?”
The woman waved her hand as if dismissing an errant schoolboy. “It looks like a brown bag. From here to here.” She touched the top of her neck to below her knees. “Could make any woman, even this beautiful one in the dressing room, look like a nun.”
Sounded like Meg tried desperately to control the uncontrollable. She wanted to hide her body and hopefully kill the attraction that simmered between them.
The door to the dressing room opened and out walked Meg. “Oh.” She looked across the shop at Cole, surprise on her face. “I thought we said four?”
“We did. I’m early.”
The shopkeeper had been generous with her description. The dress Meg wore looked like a plastic trash sack with a purple drawstring around the waist. Even in that potato sack when Meg turned there was a hint of a hip, a curve of breast, and a tease of leg.
But the dress? A miserable expression in brown. Whatever joviality Cole wanted to create in Allison and Stan and then utilize to Comnet’s advantage in closing the deal, Meg would squelch in that bag of a dress.
If she wasn’t so damned determined to conceal her femininity and beauty she might realize that both could be huge assets in business. She had wit. She had charm. She had brains. She had beauty. People wanted to do business with someone who possessed all those attributes. Beauty didn’t mean she was less smart. Less astute. Less capable of getting a deal made. But somehow, Meg confused showing her beauty with appearing weak. Or perhaps brainless.
“It’ll have to do.” Meg scampered back into the dressing room.
The shopkeeper held up both her hands and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “What can I do?”
Nothing. The shopkeeper could do nothing, but Cole certainly could.
“She liked it then?” Cole nodded to the red dress.
“Liked? Yes. But fearful of its power. Her own beauty, that one? She’s not comfortable with it. How a woman turns her back on such beauty, I do not know. Youth—it does not last forever.”
“Do you know Casa del Mar?” Cole asked.
The woman nodded.
“Have the red dress delivered there.”
“You’re a fine man to keep your woman looking so good.”
She was the third person in one day to call Meg his woman. Perhaps he should listen or perhaps they should close the TBC deal and simply ship Meggy far, far away.
Chapter Eight
“Why are we stopping?” Meg asked.
“Because we need to see this.” Cole exited the car and reached inside for her hand. Meg’s fingertips touched his.
A tremor raced through her body. Cole placed his hand low on Meg’s back, and a hot liquid feeling oozed through her.
“What is this place?” Meg gazed at the giant Spanish-style mansion with white terra cotta walls. The red clay roof baked in the hot Central American sun. Ocean blue tiles lined the entrance. The entire building sat upon a brilliant green lawn, which bled into the white sand and brilliant turquoise sea.
“Casa de Tierra Generosa,” Cole said. “A former banana plantation and now a school for underprivileged children.” Cole’s hand remained on her low back as they walked up the steps and into the building. “Casa de Tierra Generosa is one of Allison Morton’s pet projects.”
The warmth of Cole’s fingertips pressed through the fabric of her shirt, and tiny trembles of desire raced through her legs.
“She takes care of this place and funds two other schools in Costa Rica.”
“I—I didn’t know that.” Meg fought for her voice. “My research on Stan didn’t turn up any of this about Allison.”
“Always good to know about the wife. Often it’s the love of a man’s life that helps him make his decisions.”
“Wh…where are the children?” Meg asked. Her concentration still rattled by Cole’s hand on her back.
“Not here. The ribbon-cutting is in two days. I’m guessing this—the opening of this new school—explains Stan and Allison’s sudden disappearance from Los Angeles.”
She ran her fingertips along a black wrought iron rail, cool beneath the open-air hallway. To her right were doorways to the classrooms that would soon house and educate children. On her left, in the distance, the ocean sparkled like a sapphire in the sun. And just behind her was a dazzling-looking man who made her heart beat faster than she cared to admit.
Cole still guided her with his hand on the small of her back—she didn’t want him to remove it—and she breathed into the gentle pressure.
“So quiet. So beautiful,” Meg said.
“Some of the children don’t have parents. Some of them will live here—have to live here—full time.”
Meg’s heart hitched. While her mother’s skills as a parent were pretty non-existent, at least she had a mother. To travel through life without parents, to be completely alone in this world as a child, would feel much like a life preserver bobbing in the ocean. Too much for any child to endure.
“This place functions as a family. See the guesthouses? The children live in the homes and the faculty act as foster parents throughout the year. Really, it’s quite a system. No holidays without parents, no summer vacations staying on the grounds alone. These kids get not only an education but a foundation,” Cole said. “Something to build upon.”
“You learned all this in one afternoon?”
“When something is familiar”—his voice was low, as if this place struck a chord within him—“you tend to take an interest.”
Meg stepped down onto a patio and a breeze drifted across the spot where Cole’s hand had been. Immediately she missed the heat, the energy of his touch. She walked across the green grass to a trellis. Bougainvillea sporting crimson and fuchsia flowers lined the walkway. Cool and quiet, the plants provided a secluded nook invisible from the school, but yet there, still in front of them was the ocean. A vision of blue.
Then it hit her.
Of course.
Meg covered her mouth with her hand. The children without parents.
“Oh, Cole, your parents…when they…” But she couldn’t say anything more.
Cole stepped forward and braced his arm on the trellis just above her head. He surrounded her, his presence, his smell.
“
That’s
why I still believe in true love.” His voice was soft, a caress. He was just behind her, nearly touching her.
“I still remember them. Together. Laughing. Touching. Working. They started Comnet in our garage.”
Of course she had heard the stories of Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, the founders of Comnet, but somehow she never personalized who
they
were with regards to Cole. They were his
parents
. Their death… Their death was the death of Cole’s childhood—his family.
“Why, Meggy? Do you have interest in my life?” It was as if he was daring her, with his throaty voice and closeness—daring her to get close, to get personal, to become intimate.
The heat of his body sent a shiver chasing down Meg’s spine. Her breath caught in her chest. To stand this close to Cole was dangerous. She couldn’t move. She was frozen to this spot, paralyzed by the very want she couldn’t admit to herself or to him.
Cole leaned forward. The hard planes of his body brushed against her shoulder blades. He lifted her curls away from the back of her neck. Her nipples tightened with his touch.
“Your life—” Meg whispered.
“Is about to get more interesting.”
His lips pressed hot against the back of her neck. Her knees weakened and she fought to stay vertical. His arm slid around her waist and held her firmly as his lips explored her neck.
She needed to step away from his touch—to pretend that she had never felt Cole’s lips on her neck and his hands on her waist. But her body betrayed her, and her hips pressed backward, arching toward him and against his hardness.
This was madness. Absolute and complete.
His mouth worked up the curve of her neck and her breath shortened. She wanted this. Now. In this moment. His hand glazed over her hip, her stomach, and stopped at her breast. With his fingertips he teased her nipple, now tight beneath her shirt.
She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. His fingertips circled her nipple and a low moan slipped over her lips.
“Turn around.”
She closed her eyes for a second. A pause so that she might collect her thoughts and hide her passion. She didn’t want to him to witness the desire in her eyes.
She opened her eyes and turned.
His gaze was dark and hungry. His giant pupils left only a sliver of blue. His fingertips brushed along her collarbone and traced up her neck. He paused at the spot that felt cold, now that he’d removed his lips. His expression never changed. His finger stopped on her lips and pressed ever so gently as if asking permission for her kiss. Meg parted her mouth, her tongue slipped to her lips brushing his fingertip as he gently traced her mouth.
She wanted him.
She wanted Cole more than her promotion, more than safety, more than security, even more than all the compatibility requirements on her list.
“We…we…can’t—” she breathed out heavily. He was too much. More than she could handle, more than she could take—
“Oh, yes we can.” His arms circled her and pulled her forward. His lips were on hers with a fierceness, a need…a possession of her.
*
Cole’s mind exploded with heat when his lips pressed to Meg’s. They parted readily for him. This place taunted him. Made him remember the ache, the loneliness, the emptiness of being a lost little boy. He wouldn’t remember the ache. Not in this moment. Not with Meg in his arms.
His hands slid over her tiny waist, grasping at the roundness of her, pulling her closer to him, pressing her into him. Her tongue slipped across his, tasting and tempting and seeking a response.
Fire raced through him. His tongue explored her mouth. A deep need filled him. A need more intense than desire. She gasped and let out a moan as he pulled at her bottom lip. Her hands twined around his neck, one trailed upward through his hair.
His mouth worked hers and he pressed her against the wooden trellis. He couldn’t get close enough. Her breath caught as his hand cradled her breast. He lifted her and her thighs clasped around him. So warm. So tight. To take her. To fill her. To make her his, right now, this very moment was all his mind buzzed with. Cole had known the jagged tip of desire for a woman, but this was different.
Oh, so very different.
Cole wrenched his mouth away from Meg’s lips. Not here. Not now. Not in this place. Her eyes filled with confusion as he pressed her against him, his desire so hard, so obvious. He fought the urge to push his mouth to hers again, to lose himself in the lusciousness of her lips. He gently set her down. Each fiber of his being screamed no as he forced his body to comply with his mind.
“Meg, not now, not—”
A veil quickly descended over Meg’s eyes. The want, the desire, the vulnerability vanished.
“No worries,” Meg said. She pulled at her shirt and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Her head tilted and her jaw jutted forward. She was no longer the wanton sexpot but his serious assistant once again.
“I completely understand.” In one swift motion Meg turned to walk away.
“I don’t think you do,” Cole said, and gripped her arm.
*
Meg bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Composure. Composure and professionalism would get her through this moment and on to the next and the one after that and after that. Like an action list she would regroup one moment at a time until that…that…kiss…was erased from her memory.
But that kiss could never be erased.
Meg had been kissed before, but this kiss was so much more. Her lips still tingled. She vibrated with electricity. Colors seemed brighter, sounds louder, and Cole… He stood beside her and an intoxicating chemistry sizzled between them. She pushed her desire as far down as possible. She forced her hand to remain steady and glanced at her watch.