Fletcher sprang from the chair and paced, his face ruddy with anger. “I see his game now. He wants to make you feel indebted to him.”
“That's not exactly what I meant, butâ”
“Let's beat him at his own game, Laur.” He turned to her with fierce determination glittering in his baby-blue eyes. “Go decorate his house, and do a fantastic job, and
keep it strictly business.” With an oddly sardonic twist of his mouth, he said, “You shouldn't have any trouble doing that.” Laura frowned, vaguely disturbed by the remark, but he went on with angry vehemence, “If he does expect some kind of sexual kickback, it'll serve him right when you turn him down. If he doesn't, we still win...to the tune of half a million dollars.”
Laura stared at him in dismay. She couldn't argue with his logic. But logic had little to do with the explosive sexual chemistry between Cort and her.
Silence stretched on between them as an agonized self-debate raged within her. Frown lines etched between Fletcher's eyebrows until he looked pitifully unsure of himself. “You...you don't
want
to go to bed with him, do you?”
“No!” Which was the truth. She did not want to go to bed with Cort Dimitri. She didn't even want to go near him. The doubt on Fletcher's face made her regret mentioning her suspicions. “I've upset you, haven't I? Now you think I'll be in an awkward position if we accept his offer.” She reached for his hand and held it. “Don't worry about me, Fletcher. He's not going to force me into anything. And I might be wrong about his motivation. It is kind of presumptuous of me to suspect that he'd invest that much money just to...to seduce me.”
Fletcher groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I don't know, Laur,” he mumbled. “I'd love to have that money backing us. We could own commercial real estate, open more locations, buy merchandise from all over the world.” He lifted a tormented gaze to her. “But I don't want you to feel pressured into...anything. You're the one who will be working with him. I've got to leave the decision up to you.”
The pained hesitancy in his expression exactly mirrored her own.
Â
FROM THEIR LONG-AGO Hays Street days to their recent reunions, Laura had loved the early-morning hours the group spent lounging over coffee in their pajamas, nightshirts, gowns, robes orâin Rory's caseâoutlandish boxer shorts. For this morning's selection, he wore little turkeys and pilgrims.
Laura wore her butter-yellow nightshirt and green-plaid flannel robe. She'd hesitated at first to wear her nightclothes to the breakfast table. She'd assumed Cort would be there, and hadn't relished the prospect of socializing with him on such a casually intimate basis. At the last minute, though, she'd changed her mind. Why should she deviate from the tradition she'd enjoyed with her friends over the last fifteen years?
She needn't have worried. Cort was the only one who didn't make his way to the breakfast table that Thanksgiving morning. The rest of them shared fresh bagels, coffee, conversation and laughter.
Curiously enough, no one said much about her plan to have a baby with Fletcher, or Cort's amazing offer. Which probably meant they'd been discussing it among themselves and would be pulling her aside for private chats throughout the day.
Steffie and B.J. soon gravitated toward the raw turkey and argued over how to season it. Tamika went to another room to rock and feed Toby. Hoss read the day's football schedule, and Fletcher and Rory chose the teams they'd bet on.
Laura kept a nervous watch out for Cort while she prepared the stuffing for the turkey. She wanted to talk to him and resolve her doubts about his offer. She had just finished
mixing the seasoned cubes of bread with redolent turkey broth, onions and celery when he put in an appearance.
Cort strolled into the kitchen wearing black swim trunks and an unbuttoned, light blue shirt. A towel was draped over one wide shoulder. The very air suddenly seemed charged with raw, potent virility as he walked by. “Morning,” he murmured to the group on his way to the coffeepot.
Laura watched him fill a cup with the steaming French-roast brew. She willed her heartbeat back to normal before she approached him. “Cort, I'd like a private word with you.”
He glanced at her as he set the coffeepot on the burner. His eyes looked strikingly blue this morning; his hair a more lustrous ebony. “Sure. I'm headed to the hot tub in the solarium. We can talk there.” His gaze flickered to her nighttime attire, then leisurely rose to meet her eyes in warm invitation. “Why don't you join me?”
She almost dropped the bowl of stuffing.
The hot tub. With Cort
. “No, thank you.” She was having a hard enough time thinking past the shadowy view of his dark-haired, muscular chest and sleek, hard stomach afforded by his open shirt; the strong, sinewy legs beneath his swim trunks. “I'd like to talk to you before you go in the hot tub, if you don't mind.”
He moved a shoulder in a suggestion of a shrug, gripped his coffee cup and sauntered out of the kitchen. Aware of the others watching them, Laura accompanied him down the carpeted corridor, trying to ignore her heated awareness of his commanding size, rugged good looks and masterful aura of confidence that somehow relegated him to leader in any group.
She had no idea how to flush the truth out of him about his motive for making the offer.
She almost jumped at the light touch of his hand at her elbow as he steered her through a doorway. A bedroom, she realized. She'd avoided a hot tub, only to be steered into a bedroom.
Good going!
It was obviously the room he'd slept in. His clothes from the day before were draped neatly over a chair, his suitcase sat on a cedar chest and the pleasing scent of his aftershave lingered in the air. She looked away from the rumpled bed with sudden sensual awareness. Why should the presence of a bed and Cort in the same room set her pulse to pounding? She'd spent an hour this morning chatting with Fletcher in her bedroomâseated on her unmade bed, yet!âand had never given sensual matters a thought. Unless, of course, she counted her thoughts about Cort and his offer.
Cort shut the door and turned to face her, coffee cup in hand, his manner impersonal; almost aloof. “You wanted to talk?”
She gathered her poise and confronted him. “I don't understand why you offered to invest that money. You can make lucrative deals all over the globe. Why us?”
He sipped his coffee and leaned a shoulder against the door. “I thought I'd explained that last night.”
“You said you wanted to do more than just wish us luck with our parenting plan. The usual way to express that sentiment is with a baby gift. A high chair, or crib, or blanket. Not a half-million-dollar investment.”
He strolled closer to her, a slight frown in his dark blue eyes. “You're still worried about strings attached, aren't you?”
“No, not strings. I know you have more integrity than
that. But I want to make sure that you're holding no... personal expectations.”
“Of course I am.”
Her breath caught “Like what?”
“Healthy profits. A professionally decorated house.” He set his cup down on the nightstand and tossed the towel from his shoulder onto a chair. “The pleasure of watching your business grow and knowing I was at least partially responsible.”
“I meant, of a personal nature.” Her skin tingled with embarrassment What if she was wrong? How egotistical, accusing him of wanting her enough to invest a half million dollars for the chance to get her alone. It suddenly sounded bizarre, and she hesitated to explain her meaning. But she'd already said too much to back down, and she wanted to hear his answer. “Expectations of a personal nature...between you and me.”
His gaze roamed across her face to her unbound hair, then languidly down to her nighttime attire. Traitorous warmth rushed through her at his perusal.
“I suppose I
would
like the chance to get to know you better,” he replied. “I mean, I find it damn peculiar that I know you so well in some ways, and not at all in others.” His gaze locked with hers and intensified; his voice grew gruff and intimate. “If I close my eyes, Laura, I could pick you out of a hundred women, just by the scent of your skin and hair. And the way you feel against me.” He touched her hair, sliding a tendril through his fingers, then smoothed it back with a lingering touch. “But I don't know what kind of music you like, or what makes you laugh, or what you really want out of life.” He finished on a whisper, “I'd like the chance to fill in the blanks.”
She could barely breathe, so affected was she by the seduction
of his words, the heat of his gaze, the stroke of his hand on her hair.
Something like panic flared within her. She'd worked years to fortify herself against such an onslaught; yet one whisper, one touch, had her trembling like the schoolgirl she'd once been.
Anger at him and her own vulnerability fought its way through the sensual haze. “I think you're exactly the same as you always were,” she charged, “with one thing on your mind. Except now you're not quite so honest. Now you'll stoop to sweet-talking the women who aren't dazzled by your money.”
A spark of anger lit in his gaze. “I haven't met any women who aren't dazzled by my money.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, let me introduce myself.”
“Please do.”
She squared her jaw. “If you were being honest, Cort Dimitri, you would admit that your interest in me hasn't changed. It's still
right here
.” She reached down to cup her hand near his crotch, to mimic the insulting gesture he'd made before he'd left her, all those years ago. She stopped just short of touching him.
But his hand shot out reflexively and trapped hers against his bodyâagainst the long, hard column beneath his swim trunks.
They stared at each other in stunned silence. Neither had expected this sudden, most intimate of contact. Neither had intended it.
Neither of them moved.
“I never said I didn't want you,” he growled, his hardness growing beneath her palm. “I never said that having you here in this room, dressed for bed, with your hair all free and wild, isn't driving me crazy.” He frowned and pressed closer. “And if
you
were being honest, Laura Merritt,
you would take off that damn robe and whatever you have on underneath it, and make love to me.”
Heat pulsated between them.
He released her hand.
She drew away slowly, closed her fingers and held her fist to her chest, her heart thundering. Her palm felt branded by the heat, the size, the hardness that reminded her so vividly of their lovemaking.
He continued to glare at her. “That doesn't mean that's all I want from you, or
for
you. And it doesn't mean we can't work together, in the course of our business, like two reasonable adults.”
“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” She looked away from him, mortified by her own behavior. She couldn't believe she'd reached for him in such a crude, impulsive way. She hadn't meant to touch him, but when she had, the contact had aroused her. His gaze and words aroused her. Everything about him aroused her. She couldn't trust herself near him!
He cursed beneath his breath and pivoted toward a lace-draped window where milky, snow-filtered light dappled the blue-and-white room. He stood with his back to her. “Laura,” he finally said over his shoulder, “you know I would never force you.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Can you possibly think I offered half a million dollars to ... to
buy
you?”
Embarrassment warmed her face at his incredulous question. She was glad he wasn't watching her. “Of course not.”
After another lengthy silence, he turned to meet her gaze. “And is it true that you've been over your âsilly infatuation' with me for years?”
Her heart paused. “Yes.”
In tight-lipped silence, he searched her face. “Then why the hell would you even consider turning down my offer? ” He studied her as if she were some oddity. “I'm no threat to you, physically or emotionally. You can definitely use the money. And according to what you told me yesterday, you never base important decisions on âwhimsy.' So explain the logic you're using to make this decision.”
She wasn't using logic at all. As much as she hated to face that fact, she couldn't escape it. She was afraid of becoming involved with him. Afraid!
Was Tamika right about her? Was she avoiding relationships with men because she was afraid of being hurt again? She'd convinced herself each time that she'd withdrawn for fear of hurting the man. Either way, she couldn't allow her life to be ruled by fear.
But she also couldn't allow herself to be led by lust, which had a way of overpowering her good sense whenever Cort was around.
“You probably wouldn't understand my logic.” She knew she sounded patronizing. “My priorities right now are very different from yours. I'm focusing on motherhood. ”