Dream 3 - Finding the Dream (13 page)

"What's the problem?"

She only took a quiet, shaky breath. "Hello, Peter. Candy."

"Laura."

Michael shifted, his hand instinctively moving to the small of Laura's back to support her. This must be the ex, he realized, with the perky, cat-eyed redhead clinging to his arm.

He supposed this would be Laura's type. Tall and golden, distinguished, perfectly presented in a tailored tux, diamonds winking discreetly at his cuffs.

"I didn't realize you were in town," Laura managed. She knew, though conversations continued, that attention was focusing on the little tableau. "When I spoke to you about Allison's school supper, you indicated you'd be away."

"My plans changed a bit, but I'm still not able to attend." He said it formally, as if declining an invitation to a polo match.

"It's very important to her, Peter. Just a few hours—"

"And my plans are important to me." His gaze flicked to Michael, lingered in speculation. "I don't believe I know your escort."

"Michael Fury." And Michael didn't offer a hand.

"Of course. I thought I recognized you." Candy Litchfield's voice bubbled up. "Michael is an old friend of Josh Templeton's, darling. You ran away to sea or something, didn't you?"

"Or something," Michael said, sparing her a glance. Her type had always grated on him. Overly bright, overly vicious. "I don't remember you."

The statement had been calculated to deflate and annoy. He usually hit his mark. She bristled a little, then purred. "Well, after all, we didn't run in the same circles, did we? Your mother was a waitress, wasn't she?"

"That's right. At Templeton Resort. And my father ran off with a redhead. I don't think she was related to you."

"I shouldn't think so." After sneering down her nose, she looked back at Laura. "Now don't nag Peter, Laura. We've been so incredibly pressed. We've hardly had time to catch our breath since we got in this morning. We've been in St. Thomas."

"How lovely for you, but the fact is that these pesky domestic details do require some communication. If you'd…"

She trailed off as her gaze lighted on the ring Candy was displaying on the hand she deliberately fluttered against Peter's chest. The stone was as big as a hen's egg, sitting atop a platinum Tiffany setting.

Satisfied that she'd finally shifted Laura's attention where she wanted it, Candy giggled. "Oh, dear, you've found us out. Peter and I want to make the announcement quietly, but I'm sure I can trust you to be discreet." And miserable, she hoped. She'd detested Laura for more years than she cared to count, and now she savored her moment of triumph.

Every muscle in her stomach twisted as Laura looked into Peter's eyes. Oh, they were amused. Coolly amused. "Congratulations. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

"I have no doubt of it." Candace was perfect for him, he thought. Perfect for this new stage of his life, just as Laura had been perfect for another stage. "We're planning a small ceremony in May in Palm Springs."

"Not too small." Candy pouted prettily, but her eyes were gleaming as they stayed locked on Laura's face. "May's such a lovely month for a wedding, don't you think? Something charming and alfresco would be nice. But not too small or informal. After all, a bride needs to show off a bit."

"And you'd know all about that." Laura's hands were threatening to tremble. It couldn't be permitted. "Are you planning on telling the girls about your marriage, Peter, or is that up to me?"

"I'll leave that to you."

"I'm sure they'll be delighted," Candy purred, as she slid a glass off the tray of a nearby waiter. "Mine are. Little Charles is very fond of Peter, and Adrianna is thrilled with the prospect of a wedding."

"How nice for you," Laura said stiffly. "But then, Charles and Adrianna must be used to your weddings by now."

"Don't be snide, Laura." Peter's voice was cool and mild. "It never suited you. You'll have to excuse us now. We need to mingle."

"Steady," Michael murmured as they slipped away.

"That bitch! How am I going to tolerate that bitch being stepmother to my babies? How am I going to stand it?"

It surprised him that that would be her first thought. Then he realized it shouldn't have. "They're bright girls, Laura, and she doesn't strike me as the maternal type."

"I can't stay here."

Before she could dash, he took a firm hold on her arm. The way he drew her to him made it seem as if they were sharing secrets. "You run out now, it's going to look like retreat. That's not what you want."

"I can't stay here." There was panic swirling inside her, along with a bubbling brew of fury. "How could he do this? How could he do this to them?"

Odd, he thought, that she couldn't see that both Peter and Candy had done it to her. Very deliberately, and very well. "If I'm any judge, everybody in this room is wondering just how Laura Templeton is going to handle this little meeting with her ex and his Kewpie doll. I think we should have that dance."

He was right, of course. He was exactly, pathetically right. However hurt, however shocked, there was still pride.

She wouldn't allow Candy to snicker over her retreat.

"Okay."

She walked with him to the dance floor as if she wanted nothing more than a quiet turn. The music was soft, some moody number from the forties. It was designed to be romantic, she thought. Instead it rang in her ears like a battle cry.

"She's not going to get her pinching little ringers on my babies," Laura said between her teeth.

"I don't imagine she'd get past you to pinch anyone, if that was her goal. It wouldn't hurt if you looked at me." He slipped his arms around her, found they fit well. Discovered her steps matched his smoothly. "Maybe even smiled."

"They only came here to slap at me. Neither one of them gave a single thought to the children. She's a mother herself, Michael. How can she not care about the children?"

'Too much in love with herself. Stop worrying about it. She isn't going to make time in her social calendar to play stepmama. Smile," he murmured, touching a hand lightly to her cheek. "You can make everybody believe you're only thinking about me and what we're going to do when we leave here. That'll burn their ass."

He was right again, and she made her lips curve. "I'm sorry you got caught in the cross fire."

"Hell, it's just a flesh wound." He was rewarded by a quick, honest laugh.

"You're nicer than I remembered, Michael. And I'm a mess."

"You look pretty neat and tidy to me. You always did. We've got them wondering now." He bent his head so that his cheek brushed hers, his mouth close to her ear. "Just who is that guy Laura Templeton's wrapped around? How long has this been going on?"

She was beginning to wonder the same thing herself. "Not everyone's that interested in my business."

His breath blew warm against her ear. "Come on, sugar. You fascinate them. Cool, composed Laura."

"It's been poor Laura for a little too long now." Her voice was tight again. "Poor Laura, whose husband cheated on her with his secretary. Poor Laura, who'll have to hold her head up now that her ex is marrying her former co-chair of the Garden Club."

"Jesus, you played with that irritating little redhead?" He shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you. Tell you what, now that they're wondering, why don't we give them something to talk about over brunch tomorrow?"

His mouth slid around, grazed her cheek. Before she could jolt from the shock of that, it was fixed warmly on hers. The kiss was long and slow. Her head reeled once, and the hand on his shoulder flexed open and dug in.

He eased back, barely an inch so that the only thing she could see was his eyes. "Let's try that again," he said softly. "I think you'll get the hang of it."

She would have protested. She wasn't the kind of woman who indulged in smoldering kisses in public. Or in smoldering kisses in private, for that matter. But his mouth was on hers again, clever, persuasive. Hot. And she was swept along.

The rich male taste, the firm, knowing lips, the confident exploration of tongue and rough scrape of teeth. No one had kissed her like that before, as if her mouth was the source of all pleasure. Something hummed in her throat that might have been shock but was more likely wonder.

As he had wondered. What would she taste like, feel like, be like? What he found was a banquet of contrasts. Heat filtered through cool armor. Shyness fluttering under composure. She was trembling, erotic little shivers that shot need straight to his loins.

And that reminded him that no matter how much he might enjoy the experiment, they weren't alone in a place where they could analyze the results.

"That ought to do it," he murmured. "It sure as hell convinced me."

She could do nothing but stare up at him. Somehow they were still dancing. She knew her feet, however disassociated they seemed from the rest of her, were moving.

"Sugar." Struggling to keep it light when he would have been happier devouring her in a couple of quick bites, he lifted her hand, nipped at the knuckles. "You keep looking at me that way, they're going to have more to talk about than a couple of kisses."

She tore her gaze away, stared determinedly over his shoulder. "You caught me off guard."

"That makes two of us. We can leave now, if you want. Nobody's going to think it's a retreat."

"Yes." She kept her back stiff, fighting to ignore the familiar and enticing way his hand continued to stroke it. "I'd like to go home."

She didn't speak again until they stood on the wide veranda of the entrance to the clubhouse. One of the eager valets rushed off to fetch Michael's car, and they remained there, sheltered, with the lights and music behind them and the night, moonswept and shadowed, in front.

"Should I thank you?"

"Jesus." He rammed his hands into his pockets. She was about as approachable now as polished marble. "Did it seem like I was making a sacrifice? I've given some thought to kissing you, and if you want to step off that goddamn pedestal again for a minute, you'll admit you knew I'd given some thought to it."

"I'm not trying to make you angry."

"Just a happy accident, then. Laura—'' he turned to her, not completely sure of his next move, then swore as the valet zipped his car up to the base of the stairs.

"That's a beauty, sir," the boy said, then beamed at the tip Michael all but threw at him. "Thank you, sir. Drive safely."

Calmer once he had the car racing away from the club, Michael took a breath. "Look, sugar, you took a hard knock in there. I'm sorry for it. If you ask me, that jerk you made the mistake of marrying isn't worth a minute of your time."

She wasn't asking him, was she? Laura thought nastily. "I'm not concerned about me. It's the girls."

"Parents get divorced. It's a fact of life. Fathers take off and ignore their kids. Another fact."

"That's very easy to say when you don't have children to concern you."

A shadow crossed his face. "No, I don't have any children. I've been one who lived through divorce and neglect, though. You get through it."

She shut her eyes. She'd forgotten that his father had left him and his mother. "I'm sorry, but that doesn't make it right. Allison needs his attention, and his disinterest hurts her."

"What about you? Are you still in love with him?"

"No. God, no. Candy's welcome to him. She's just not welcome to my girls."

"I don't see them giving her more than the patented Templeton dismissal. That small, polite smile."

"We don't do that."

"Oh, sugar, yes, you do."

She shifted and aimed a steady glance at him. "Do you know why you call women'sugar,' Michael? That way, when you roll off one in the middle of the night, you don't have to remember annoying little details like her name."

His mouth twitched into something between a grimace and a smile. "Close enough. I guarantee I'll remember yours… Laura. If you're considering letting me roll off of you tonight."

She wasn't sure if she was shocked, outraged, or amused. But she did know that most of the sting from Peter had faded. "That's an incredibly flattering offer, Michael. I don't know when I've had one quite so—"

"Honest," he suggested.

"Crude," she finished. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Up to you. How about a walk on the cliffs instead?" On impulse, he swung the car to the shoulder.

They speared, magnetic, moon-kissed, and entirely too romantic. Because she could envision herself walking them with him, their hands clasped, she shook her head. "I'm not wearing the right shoes for cliff walking."

"Then we'll just sit here a minute."

"I don't think—"

"I have something to say to you."

Nerves began to hum again. She clasped her hands in her lap. She was parked on a dark road in the moonlight. Something she hadn't done in too many years to count. "All right."

"You're a beautiful, desirable woman." When her head snapped around and he saw her eyes wide and confused, he nearly laughed. "I guess that's something you hear all the time."

It certainly wasn't, which left her at a loss as to how to respond. "I'm flattered you think so."

"I want you."

Now there was panic, fizzing up like champagne in a shaken bottle. "I don't—What do you expect me to say to that? God!" Despite the shoes, she wrenched open the door and stepped out into the night.

"I didn't ask you to say anything. I'm telling you." He came up beside her and turned her to face him. "It's probably a mistake, but I'm telling you anyway. I have memories of you. I didn't realize how many until I saw you again and they just popped out of my head. I used to think about you. Damned inconvenient, and embarrassing to be thinking about you the way I was when you were the kid sister of my best friend. Josh would have kicked my ass for what I was thinking, and I'd have had to let him."

"I'm no good at this." She moved back, retreating quickly. "I'm no good at this sort of thing. You'll have to stop."

"Not till I'm finished. I never stop until I'm finished. Keep backing up that way, sugar—Laura," he corrected himself as he grabbed her arm, "you're going to break an ankle. I don't mind you being afraid of me. I'd be surprised if you weren't." His grin flashed. "Hell, I'd be insulted. Just hold still a minute."