Michael’s car had the sort of leather seats that seemed to reach out and pull you down inside them, holding you safe from the outside world. Char sat back with a sigh, resolved to relax if she could manage it. Leaning back, she stretched out her legs and slipped her shoes off and kneaded her toes into the thick carpeting. It was nice to be in a car that didn’t jar your bones at every bump in the road, like her old rattletrap. Smooth and luxurious. She turned her head and watched the scenery fly by, determined to enjoy the ride, despite the company.
Enjoyment didn’t seem like an option to Michael. He quickly realized the trip was going to be pure torture for him—the exquisite torment of trying to ignore the provocative allure of his traveling companion. And she wasn’t making it any easier when she worked her crimson-tipped toes like that, letting her short skirt ride up even higher, showing off legs that were destined to star in his most erotic dreams from now on. He found himself driving too fast and breathing quickly, too. He had to put a stop to this.
“What kind of music do you like?” he asked abruptly.
She glanced at him, her startlingly blue gaze barely brushing his before looking away again. “Oh, I don’t know. Anything will do. It’s your car. You choose.”
He chose, all right. He chose the wildest, most offensive rock and roll station he could find and put it on loud, hoping the beat could serve as a sort of wall of noise between them. It wasn’t long before he knew he’d made exactly the wrong choice. He usually liked rock and he liked it loud, but he rarely listened to the lyrics. Suddenly, every lewd innuendo seemed to come through loud and clear, every suggestive come-on, every sexist metaphor. It was downright embarrassing. Even rock and roll had gone downhill. Reaching out, he quickly switched the station to a classical outlet.
“Thanks,” she said, giving him a sideways grin without making eye contact. “I really like rock but that was beginning to feel like a long day in the dentist’s chair.”
He looked in her direction and couldn’t help but smile back at her. She was right. “I just hope this stuff doesn’t put us to sleep,” he added.
“Not Vivaldi,” she said serenely. “He’s too gorgeous for that.”
She was right again. He’d never realized how sensual classical music was before. There was something about the way she melted into the seat beside him, the way she moved and the scent from her hair, that seemed choreographed to the music. He felt like a man intoxicated by desire, but it was now a slow, subtle sort of longing that felt like pleasure instead of urgency. This he could handle. For a time, at any rate.
The Vivaldi turned to Mozart, and then to a little Ravel as they came within cruising distance of the little town of Trivolo, and the location of the White Stones project.
“Have you been up here to see the site before?” he asked her as they neared the target zone.
“No.” She looked out at the blue-gray ocean sparkling in the sun to their left. “But I know this area well. I love it here.”
“A lot of people love it. That’s why we’re developing it. So more people can come and enjoy it.”
She glanced at him. “Who did they buy the land from?” she asked.
“Most of the land was being offered by Bear Creek Timber. They’ve had it for years.” He pulled onto a dirt road. “You shouldn’t have any trouble with titles on that. The ownership should be clear, though you’ll need to document it. But in order to make it all work, we’re going to need to convince a few small landowners along the coast to sell. Those are the titles you may have trouble validating.”
She nodded. She knew all that. She was prepared for her job. But she was luxuriating in the atmosphere. As a child, she’d roamed these beaches at will, never wondering who owned anything. Sometimes it didn’t seem to pay to grow up. She smiled, thinking of her boys. She would have to bring them up here. They were old enough now that they would love playing in the waves just the way she had once.
Michael pulled the car onto the construction area on the cliff overlooking the ocean and they both got out to take a look. The ocean breeze tugged at Char’s hair and she gave up, pulling out the pins to let it fly. Turning, she caught a dark look in Michael’s eyes, and she realized, with a jolt, that he found her desirable. She turned away and stared out to sea, feeling uncharacteristically tongue-tied. She didn’t want him to want her. But she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pleasure over it. Shivering, she turned back to the car.
He followed her without a word and they drove on into town, where he dropped her in front of the small, Spanish-style city hall building.
“I’ll pick you up in two hours,” he told her gruffly, avoiding her gaze. “That long enough for you?”
“That’ll be perfect,” she said cheerfully. “See you then.”
She watched as he drove off, biting her lip. She’d never known a man like this before. The attraction between them almost throbbed, like…like jungle drums or something equally silly. And yet they were both trying to pretend there was nothing there. How long could this go on before some sort of disaster struck?
That question still loomed in the air two hours later. She was waiting when he drove up again, and she hopped into the car, expecting him to be morose and to drive on back to Rio de Oro without another word. But to her surprise, he had sandwiches with him.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he said simply. “I was picking up something for myself. So I got you roast beef on sourdough. Is that okay?”
“Perfect.” Her stomach growled. She was starving. “Are we going back to the site? We could have a picnic.”
He frowned. “I thought we would just eat them in the car as we drive.”
She sighed dramatically. “Just like a man. Utilitarian to the end.” She picked up her sandwich and sniffed the delicious aroma. “Think of the mustard stains on the seat covers. The pickles in the carpets. The mayonnaise smears on the steering wheel.”
His grin was reluctant, but for real. “Okay,” he said. “You win. We’ll stop at the site.”
It was a small victory, but she felt good about it. They pulled back out onto the cliff and found surveyors and construction workers in hard hats busy preparing the site for excavation. They knew Michael and nodded to Char. Once they realized a picnic was in progress, one of the men brought over a blanket for them to use.
“Can’t have such a pretty lady sitting in the dirt,” he said, eyeing Char with a very appealing smile. Tall and blond, he wore snug jeans and a tight T-shirt that displayed a full set of impressive muscles.
“Judd Karst, meet Chareen Wolf,” Michael said, though he sounded reluctant. “Judd’s the planning foreman on this phase of the operation,” he added.
“Nice to meet you, Judd,” Char said, responding nicely to the flirty look in the handsome foreman’s eyes as he shook her hand.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “We don’t get many beautiful women around here. I hope you’ll come back and visit us often.”
“You can count on it,” she said, laughing up into his grin. There was nothing like flattery to make a day seem that much brighter.
As Judd walked back toward the other men, she turned to look at Michael and was shocked to see a storm cloud brewing in his gaze. Quickly, she took her place on the blanket, folding her legs sideways and tugging at her skirt to keep it from showing too much nylon-covered skin. Then she concentrated on her sandwich, but at the same time, she mused on the irony of it all. Michael didn’t really want her for himself, but he still felt possessive when another man showed interest. Human nature, she supposed. But it still was odd.
She snuck a glance at him. He still looked pretty grumpy. That made her smile.
“How’s your sandwich?” she asked him, licking mayonnaise off her index finger.
“Fine,” he said shortly, not looking her way.
The silence stretched between them again. The sound of the waves crunching and splashing up against the sandy shore, the cry of the gulls as they fought over bits and pieces of plunder, even the light traffic on the distant highway provided a sound track to their lunch. But she wanted more.
“We could talk,” she suggested, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Get to know each other.”
He frowned at her. “Why do we need to know each other?”
She suppressed a grin and waved a hand in the air. “No need, I suppose. Just a simple chat. I just thought it might be fun.”
His frown darkened. “This isn’t supposed to be fun. We’re at work.”
This time she couldn’t hold the laughter back. And she made a face at him for good measure. “Oh, so that’s the philosophy. No laughing during the work time. Is that it?”
His face softened. Staring at her for a long moment, he shook his head and looked back out toward the ocean. “Okay,” he said gruffly. “What do you want to chat about?”
Wow, another little victory, even if he did say the word chat the way her little boys said bath. She was feeling smug, but she knew she couldn’t let him know it. That would surely be the quickest way to have him heading for the car.
“Okay,” she said slowly, after she’d thought it over for a moment or two. “How about this? Why do you hate kids?”
He stared at her. “You consider that light conversation?”
She put her head to the side, considering. “Not really. But it is something I want to know.”
He looked away. “I don’t hate kids.”
She smiled and chewed thoughtfully on her last bite of roast beef and sourdough. “You give a darn good impression of a man who dislikes children,” she noted calmly at last. “I’ve known men who liked kids a lot. They don’t act like you do.”
He was annoyed. She could see it in the set of his shoulders. Then he turned and said, “Look, I know you’re divorced, but…”
“I’m not divorced. I’ve never been married.”
He stopped and gazed at her quizzically. “Where’s the father of those kids?”
She tucked her sandwich remains into the paper bag they came in. “I tell them he’s in heaven. But I must admit, I have my doubts.”
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She smiled at him. “Mostly for their sakes. Little boys need their dads.”
He nodded as though he saw her point. “You really ought to start shopping around for one, then. Don’t you think?” He shrugged and looked pleased with himself. “See? I’m thinking of their best interests. I don’t hate them.”
“Uh-huh.” She gazed at him, her eyes narrowed doubtfully. “Okay. I’ll buy it. You don’t hate kids. So why do you hate women with kids?”
He turned back and almost smiled, then looked harried. “I don’t hate you, Char. In fact…”
He let the statement dangle, but his gaze was on her mouth and she felt her pulse begin to quicken.
“In fact, what?” she asked softly, knowing she was egging on something she might not be able to control.
He seemed to wince. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, just a glancing brush of his fingers against her skin, sending a shower of sensation through her. And then he was crumpling the paper that had held his sandwich and vaulting to his feet.
“We’d better get going,” he said briskly.
She sat where she was, resisting the impulse to press the palm of her hand to where his fingers had touched. Slowly, she began cleaning up her own remnants. She knew he was waiting to pull up the blanket, but she needed a moment before she faced him again. Why did she have such a strong reaction to everything he did? It wasn’t like her to be thrown for a loop by any man, and she didn’t like it at all. As she rose, she looked out at the sea, in order to avoid looking into his eyes. And she saw something wonderful.
“Look!” she said, pointing. “Whales.”
He turned as though he thought she was pulling his leg, but his face soon changed as he looked out at the huge animals swimming offshore. “Wow. Those are whales.”
“Sure.” She shaded her eyes and squinted at them. “I don’t know what kind. It’s a little late for blue whales. They usually forage around here in the summer.”
He was still awestruck. “What fantastic creatures.”
“Aren’t they? I’ll bet those are gray whales already on their way down to Mexico for the winter. They’ll be coming back up this way in the spring.”
“That is spectacular,” he said, shaking his head. “Makes you feel a part of nature or something.”
A part of nature. She shivered again. Maybe that was just exactly the problem.
Once back in the car, he didn’t turn toward the highway as she expected.
“I want to take a run down past the houses along the beach,” he told her. “That’s our problem zone—the area with the holdouts.”
She watched as they cruised into a familiar neighborhood. “Ohmigosh,” she cried, delighted. “I didn’t realize it was so close to where my uncle lives. I used to rule these beaches when I was young.”
The long row of little windswept houses stretched from one end of the shore to the other, the last line before the ocean. Each was surrounded by mounds of ice plant but not much else in the way of flora. Most plants didn’t do very well in this salty environment. Built in the twenties or thirties as vacation hideaways, the cabins hardly looked ready to withstand a good stiff breeze, let alone the sort of storms that could sweep off the ocean at times. And yet they had stood for three-quarters of a century. Now, however, they were about to go.
It was a little sad. She tried to think of the new structures that would take their place. She knew what TriTerraCorp could do and she knew it would be wonderful—very upscale and trendy. Everyone would be crazy about it. Still, something would be lost.
Most of the houses already had the melancholy empty air of structures abandoned by their owners and about to be demolished. Turning, she tried to see her uncle’s but it was in the opposite direction from where they were driving.
“They’re really just dumps,” Michael said, stopping between two of them in a parking place that had probably served thousands of beach-goers over the years, though there was no one in sight today. “They’re eyesores, really.”
Suddenly Char’s vision was swimming in tears. “They’re beautiful eyesores,” she said, jerking open the car door and stepping out onto the sand. A hundred memories flooded her, memories of sunny summer days and sunburns and campfires and Fourth of July sparklers. She could almost smell the suntan lotion. “I miss them already.”
Frowning, Michael turned off the engine and followed her as she walked slowly down toward the shoreline. He didn’t understand why women’s emotions seemed to bounce around like Ping-Pong balls at times. What was she so upset about? If he knew, he could do something to help her, maybe. Or talk to her at least. But she didn’t give him any clues to go by. So he was at a loss.
The waves were low and rolling, sending one gentle wash of water up onto the sand after another. As he followed her down toward the water, suddenly she paused, then whirled and gave him a sassy smile, ordering “Look the other way” as she kicked off her shoes.
He wanted to grab her right then, she looked so endearing. “Why?” he asked, balling his hands into fists to keep from doing it.
She flashed him another smile. “Because I’m going to strip naked and run down the beach.”
His eyebrow rose. “And you expect me to avoid watching?”
She tilted her chin at him. “I had you going for a minute there, didn’t I?” she teased. “You can relax. I’m just going to take off my nylons. I want to get my feet wet.”
He looked the other way obligingly, but he was so aware of her and what she was doing, he could hardly stand it. He turned back in time to see her running for the water and he followed right behind her.
“Oh!” she gasped as the cold ocean welcomed her in up to her knees. “Oh, that feels so good!” She danced in the water, kicking up spray and chasing the tide as it came in and drew back out again, laughing like a girl, playing like a teenager.
He watched her for a few moments, then took off his own shoes and socks and walked down onto the wet area just beyond the reach of the lap of the waves.
She laughed at him. “Come on in,” she taunted. “I dare you!”
“I can’t get bare to the knees as easily as you can,” he said, eyeing her appreciatively.
“Sure you can.” She kicked a splash of water his way. “Just roll up your pant legs.”
He gave her a baleful look and she laughed. “Come on. I dare you. In fact, I double-dare you.”
“Hey.” He pretended to get serious. “Hold it. Watch that double-dare stuff.”
“Why?”
“Double dares are pretty dangerous.” He gave her a look that should have made her cower but only succeeded in making her laugh. “If you’re going to go around double-daring people, you’re going to have to be prepared to take the consequences.”
“I double-double-dare you!” she cried, her hair flowing in the wind.
“That does it,” he said, and without the slightest hesitation, he came charging into the water toward her, not bothering to roll up anything.
Something in the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t just fooling. Shrieking, she turned to run, but it was slow-going slogging in the water and he caught her before she’d taken three steps, grabbing her and deftly flinging her up so that he held her above the water.
“Double-dare me, will you?” he teased, holding her steady just inches from a dousing.
“Oh, Michael, no!” she cried, but she was laughing so hard she was afraid she would get hiccups. One slip and she would be totally immersed in the cold Pacific Ocean. Just one little slip…
But he wasn’t going to let that happen, and though she screamed and was very scared, deep down she knew it. When he pulled her back in against his chest and carried her back onto the dry shore, she clung to him, and the laughter died in her throat. He felt so strong. She was breathless, and not from fear.
She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it with an urgent need that trembled inside her. As he lowered her to the sand, letting her feet get balanced, she left her arms around his neck and looked up into his hazel eyes. She heard his breath catch, felt his heartbeat speed up. She lifted her lips and he lowered his. His just barely touched hers, and then he jerked back, pulling away from her arms.
“Hey,” he said lightly. “None of that.”
She sighed and shook her head. “No kissing in the work time, either, huh?”
But despite her easy tone, she was chagrined. She didn’t think she’d ever before had a man reject a kiss she’d been so clearly offering.
They sat in the sun-warmed sand to let their legs dry, and the tension faded quickly as they talked, and then laughed when they looked into each other’s eyes.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Char said ruefully, looking at the mess he’d made of his clothes. “I’ll bet you ruined those slacks.”
“No problem.” He sighed melodramatically. “I can throw them out, right along with the suit coat your kid ruined with his lollipop this morning.”
She made a face. “I’m really sorry about that.”
He looked at her and thought, Hey, it’s worth it if I get to carry you around in return, but he didn’t say it aloud. What would be the point? He had to do something, say something, that would end this constant sensual pull between them. What they had been doing wasn’t working. He could only think of one thing to try.
“Okay,” he said, steeling himself and looking out at the ocean. “I’m going to be totally honest with you.”
She sighed, leaning back in the sand and closing her eyes. “Do you have to?”
“Yes, I think it would be for the best.” He risked one look at her, then looked quickly away. She looked good enough to ravish, and that would ruin everything.
“Oh, Lord,” she said, “is this one of those ‘I’m doing this for your own good’ sort of things?”
“Sort of.”
She sighed again. “Okay. Fire away.”
He started stiffly. “I don’t think it’s any secret that…that…” Turning toward her, he groaned, avoiding her gaze. Reaching out, he took a strand of her silvery hair between his fingers. “Look, I want you so bad my guts are in knots,” he said gruffly. “My muscles are sore from holding back, my head is aching. I go nuts every time you come near me.”
She turned to look at him, staring, astounded. “Oh,” she said weakly. She could tell he wasn’t saying this because he liked the idea. In fact, he looked like a man in some kind of psychic pain. But if he really felt that way…
He dropped her hair and frowned, looking out at the waves. “But you see, I have to stay away from you because you are exactly the kind of woman I don’t want to get involved with.”
She looked away. She’d known this wasn’t going to be fun. But she hadn’t realized it would be this uncomfortable. “I am?”
“You are.” He sighed heavily. “You’re the kind of woman who is immersed in family and raising kids. That’s not my scene. It will never be. I don’t want to get pulled into it in any way.”
Had she asked for this? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she had made it clear she wouldn’t have minded a kiss or two. But she hadn’t exactly offered herself up to this man for the taking. It seemed to her he was assuming a bit too much here. After all, she didn’t want to get involved any more than he did.
She shrugged, letting sand run through her fingers. It was probably for the best, anyway. “Okay,” she said softly.
“‘Okay’?” He sounded angry. “What do you mean, ‘Okay’?”
She looked at him sadly, her silky blond hair framing her face. “I promise. I won’t tempt you to become a family man.”
His frown darkened. “You don’t understand. You have no control over the temptation part. It just is.”
She frowned back, pointedly mocking him. “Then I can’t do much about it, can I?”
He didn’t answer, and she sighed. “Tell me this. If I were childless and living in an apartment somewhere…”
“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “It wouldn’t make any difference. You’re no playgirl.” His dark gaze caressed her, following the curve of her cheek, the line of her throat, the swelling of her lovely breasts, and he groaned silently, deep inside. He wanted her so badly, he could hardly think straight.
“You put on a good front, Char. You’re cool as a cucumber on the surface.” His wide mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile. “But you’ve got the soul of a sweet, old-fashioned girl.”
“Me?” But she had a lump in her throat. How did he know these things?
“Yes, you. Beneath that wise-cracking exterior, you’re so obviously made for home and hearth and making people happy….”
“So why is that a bad thing?” she asked, palms open in appeal.
“It’s not a bad thing.” He took one of her hands in his and his tone softened. “It’s not a bad thing at all. But it’s not my thing. And I don’t want any part of it.”
She stared down at their joined hands. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been married. I know.”
He’d been married. That was news. But it made sense. He wasn’t a kid, after all. Looking up, she met his gaze and asked, steeling herself against the answer, “Did you have any children?”
Something flickered in the depths of his eyes. “No,” he said, but it wasn’t an easy no, a simple no. His “no” had a thread of pain in it that startled her. She wanted to ask more, but his face had frozen into a mask and he pulled his hand away from hers and started to rise from the sand. Slowly, she followed him to her feet, and then back to the car. But that flickering she’d seen in his eyes, and the tone of his voice, haunted her.
There was something in his past that ate away at him and made him resist falling, even temporarily, for a “sweet, old-fashioned girl.” Was she ever going to know what it was? Maybe not. Probably not. And if she knew, who could say if there would be anything she could do about it? People were pretty much formed by the time they were his age. What made her think she could wave a magic wand and transform him at this point?
And who said she even wanted to?