Tidewater Lover (5 page)

His gaze flicked to the filmy yellow pajamas more or less covering her breasts, the torn strap resting in her cleavage. Lacey was hotly reminded of the little clothing she had on—and the firm outline of his male length beside her on the narrow sofa.

"I don't think," he continued, "you're expecting anyone."

"You can't be sure of that," she retorted.

"Can't I?" he countered smoothly. "Women invariably cake themselves with makeup and dab perfume in erotic places when they plan to entertain their lovers. Your face is scrubbed clean and—" he turned her left hand and lifted the inside of her wrist closer to his face, catching the clean fragrance of soap instead of expert-sire perfume "—you aren't wearing Chanel No. 5."

"So what!" Lacey jerked her hand away. "None of this is any of your business and I don't have to explain to you. You're the one who broke into the house and accosted me. You…" She stopped short, realizing she shouldn't have reminded him of his reason for being there nor that she could easily identify him to the police.

The metallic glitter in his eyes reinforced the thought. "I broke into the house?" He repeated her words with a steely coldness that rang a familiar note in her memory, but Lacey was too caught up in the present to dwell on it. "You have an uncanny knack for telling tales."

"Telling tales…?" she began indignantly.

"Yes, tales." His hand moved. In the next instant he was holding a key in front of her face. "I used a key to get into the house. You are the one who broke in."

Lacey stared at it open-mouthed. "That's impossible!" she exclaimed finally. "Just because you say that's a key to the door, that doesn't mean it is."

"Believe me, it is." He smiled lazily, folding his fingers around the key and placing it back in his pocket. "So it's time for you to cut the innocent act."

"Act?"

He ignored her look of outrage. "You have two choices. Either get dressed and get out—I presume you do have some other clothes—or if you're desperately in need of a place to sleep tonight, I can recommend my bed." His finger traced the hollow of her collarbone, sending fiery tingles over her skin. "The last couple of nights I've found it to be quite comfortable, if slightly empty."

"The last couple of nights!" Lacey burst out angrily.

"I think this house has developed an echo," he chuckled.

"You accuse me of telling tales! You have to be the absolute tops," she sputtered. "You're nothing but a liar! Trying to con me into thinking you have any right to be in this house. Well, you just got caught in your own snare. I'll have you know that I've been sleeping in this house for the last two nights, as well, and I certainly haven't seen you."

"You don't give up, do you?" he declared with an exasperated sigh, and swung his feet to the floor to stand up.

"No, I don't," Lacey retorted, her brown eyes snapping. "And since you've so magnanimously given me the choice of staying here with you or going, I'll leave!"

"Good." His mouth had thinned into a grim line. "And pass on the word to any of your friends who were thinking this house might be vacant and available for a few nights' free lodging that it isn't."

Lacey was on her feet, halfway across the living room headed toward her bedroom, when he finished his comment. She stopped, glaring at him over her shoulder.

"I'll pass the word along," she promised impulsively. "As soon as I'm dressed, I'm going to get into my car and drive straight to the police." Turning away, she muttered aloud, "Margo was right to worry about leaving this place empty while they were away."

Long strides cleaved the distance between them. The soft flesh of her arm was grabbed to spin her around. She clutched at the drooping side of her pajama top, feeling the inherent intimidation of his looming height. But she faced him boldly.

"What did you say just now?" he demanded.

"I said I was going straight to the police," she returned coolly.

"Not that." He frowned impatiently, not relaxing his biting hold of her arm. "The last part that you muttered under your breath."

"About Margo?" Lacey questioned with surprise.

His gaze sharpened. "Who's she?"

"The owner of the house, of course. Didn't you know that?" she asked sarcastically.

"I knew it," he answered, nodding. "I'm just wondering how you found out. I suppose you've been snooping around the house this evening."

Lacey counted to ten swiftly. "Margo Richards happens to be my cousin."

"Really?" he said with jeering skepticism.

"Yes, really." She forced a smile.

"Then where is your cousin now?"

"She and her husband flew to Florida to visit his family before leaving on a Caribbean cruise. That's why I'm here, so the house won't be standing vacant while they're gone," Lacey said with all of the righteousness of the wronged. "You're the trespasser, not I."

"And Margo asked you to stay here?" he repeated, drawing his head back to study her as he let go of her arm.

"Yes."

"Her husband Bob asked me to stay," he told her.

"What?" Lacey was taken aback for a minute by his statement, then she shrugged it away. "You don't honestly expect me to believe that."

"Believe it or not, it's the truth." He reached into the pocket of his khaki-colored top and took out a pack of cigarettes, calmly lighting one while Lacey stared at him with disbelief. "I don't know your cousin Margo very well—" he blew a thin trail of smoke into the air "—but Bob's family and mine have been friends for years."

"Can you prove that?" she challenged. "Bob should be with his parents now. Why don't you call him?"

"I've already explained that the telephone is dead. They had their service interrupted while they're on vacation. That's the main reason I agreed to stay here—to get away from the telephone."

"Then you can't prove you know Bob," Lacey concluded.

He studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. "Do you know where they went on their honeymoon?"

"Yes," Lacey admitted, but she wasn't about to be trapped. "Do you?"

"To Hawaii. The first day there Bob stayed out in the sun too long and spent the next two days of their honeymoon in the hospital with sunstroke."

"He did ask you to stay in the house!" she exclaimed in a breathy voice.

"That's what I've been telling you."

"And you claim you've been staying here since Thursday night?" Lacey frowned.

"Not claim. I have been staying here—in the guest bedroom," he replied.

"But so have I." She ran her fingers through the thickness of her short hair. "Oh." Pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. "Oh!" They began fitting together rapidly.

"Oh, my gosh," she whispered, and turned the full force of her brown gaze on him. "Did Bob give you the key to the front door in person?"

"No, he left it for me."

"Where? Exactly where did he say it would be?" Lacey persisted.

"He said it would be under the mat, but I—"

"You found it in the flowerpot, right?" She finished the sentence for him. "Yes." It was his turn to frown. "How did you know?"

"Because that's where Margo said she would leave me the key, only I tripped over the mat and saw the key underneath it, so I didn't bother to look in the flowerpot," she explained.

There were other things she remembered, too, that backed up his claim that he had been in the house since Thursday. "It must have been your car I heard leaving on Friday morning," she murmured aloud.

"I left around six-thirty, quarter to seven," he admitted.

"And it was your orange juice glass I washed," she went on.

"I was late." She could see by the absent look in his eyes that he was recalling the events of that Friday morning, too. "I had orange juice and didn't bother with coffee until I reached my office. But I didn't see you here."

"I was out on the balcony having my morning coffee. It's all so incredible!" Lacey declared, moving blindly back to one of the sofas and sinking on to its cushions. "I went to bed early both nights and slept like a log."

"It was nearly midnight Thursday and Friday before I came in," he added.

"And when you came in tonight I thought you were a burglar." She laughed briefly.

"And I thought you were some college
girl sleeping in the first empty house you found," he chuckled in return.

"What a mix-up!" Lacey shook her head. "I wonder if Bob and Margo have discovered yet that they each asked somebody to stay in the house."

"I doubt it." He walked to the fireplace, flicking the ash of his cigarette into the smoldering remains of the fire.

"I guess it doesn't matter," she sighed, smiling at the humor she could now see in the situation. "They're in Florida anyway. There isn't much they can do to put it right now. It's up to us to straighten it out."

"It's too late to do anything about it tonight." Picking up the poker, he put it back in its stand. "Tomorrow is plenty of time for you to pack."

"Me?" Lacey squeaked in astonishment.

"Naturally you." He glanced over his shoulder, seemingly surprised that Lacey didn't agree.

"Why 'naturally' me?'" she demanded.

"If I'd been a burglar tonight, exactly what could you have done?" he reasoned. "There isn't a neighbor close enough to hear you scream."

"'I don't care," Lacey insisted stubbornly. "I'm on vacation. This is a perfect spot and I'm not leaving."

"If it's a vacation on the beach you want, go and check into a hotel." He regarded her with infuriating calm, his roughly hewn features set in completely unrelenting lines.

"Presuming, of course, that I was able to get a reservation at this late date, I couldn't afford two weeks in a hotel," she retorted. "I'm staying here. You go."

"I'm not," he answered decisively. "Thanks to some incompetent…" He cut off that sentence abruptly and started another. "Business demands are not going to permit me the luxury of a vacation. The most I can hope for is to get away for a few hours now and then where I can't be reached by telephone. This place is ideal."

The corner of his mouth then lifted in a wry smile. "I don't even know your name."

"Andrews. Lacey Andrews."

A wicked glint of laughter sparkled in his eyes. "You are the redoubtable Miss Andrews?"

"I beg your pardon?" She tipped her head to one side, staring at him in total confusion. Why had he put it that way?

"Where do you live?" he asked unexpectedly.

"I have a small apartment on the outskirts of Newport News. Why?" Except for that glittering light of amusement dancing in his blue eyes, his expression was impassive and enigmatic.

"Where do you work?"

What does that have to do with anything? Lacey thought crossly, but answered in the hope that he would eventually satisfy her curiosity.

"I'm a secretary to a construction engineer in Newport News."

The wicked glint became all the more pronounced. "'I am not claiming Mr. Bowman is out. I am stating it,'" he mimicked unexpectedly.

Chapter Three

LACY'S MOUTH opened and closed. "You…you aren't Mr. Whitfield, are you?" she accused with breathless incredulity.

"Cole Whitfield." He identified himself with a mocking nod of his head. "At last we meet face to face instead of via a telephone."

Stunned, Lacey stared at the tall, broad-shouldered man standing in front of the fireplace. Strong, carved features carried the stamp of a man accustomed to having authority over others. Lacey recognized that now.

His hair was brown, darker than her own, an umber shade that bordered on black. Yet there was a decided virility about him, an aura of sheer maleness that Lacey would simply never have associated with Mr. Whitfield.

Over the telephone he had been as abrasive as rough-finished steel coated with a winter morning frost. Her mind's image of Mr. Whitfield did not resemble this vital, compelling man at all. Lacey was still gaping when his firmly molded mouth moved to speak.

"Don't I come up to your expectations?" he asked mockingly.

She found her voice long enough to croak, "Hardly."

"What did you think I would be? An ogre with three heads?" Cole Whitfield inquired, his voice husky with contained amusement. "I left the other two heads at the office."

"You are the rudest, most caustic man…" Lacey began, quite evenly, to describe the man she had known as Cole Whitfield.

"If you had as much money, mine and investors', tied up in that building as I do and had suffered the delays that I have, you'd be snapping at everyone, too," he interrupted without a trace of apology for his behavior.

"And that's your excuse?" she declared indignantly.

"No, it doesn't excuse my attitude, Lacey." Cole Whitfield used her Christian name with ease. "But it does explain why I'm in such desperate need for some peace and quiet before it becomes impossible for me to live with myself. By the way—" his deeply blue eyes were laughing again "—did you ever find those toilets?"