Designer Genes (11 page)

He sure was.
Hotter than an unmarried man had any right to be. “Buffy, I’m a member of the
school board. I have to set a good example.”

“For who?
Allie? She doesn’t care, and besides, she’s snuggled up with Mazeppa.” She was
dancing in place, close enough for him to smell the flowery perfume of her
hair. “What’s the big deal? We could both use the exercise.”

The kind of
exercise he craved was the last thing on earth he ought to contemplate. But
nobody had tempted him like this in fifteen years. Nobody in all this time had
made him feel like an eager young man on the verge of bursting into life. Or
just plain bursting.

Had he become
so stodgy that he didn’t even dare sneak into the country club pool for an
evening dip? It was outside of town, isolated in the middle of a rather odd
golf course, and nobody was likely to stop by.

He wasn’t
eighteen, he was thirty-three, and he ought to be able to resist temptation. If
he wished to. Only he didn’t.

“Let’s go,”
Carter said. “Last one into a swimsuit has to wash dishes when we get home.”

Buffy wasn’t
sure what imp had prompted her to lure Carter into mischief. Maybe it was
because that story about him and Amy had reawakened her own memories of getting
into scrapes in high school and enjoying the hell out of them.

Besides, she
was beginning to suspect that he wasn’t as contented as she’d believed.
Sometimes his eyes expressed a powerful yearning that she guessed was related
to his confining routine. The man needed a break. Also, she itched to see what
he looked like stripped down.

A few minutes
later, clad in a bikini, shorts and a knit top, she ventured into the
hallway
 
and was rewarded with a
sumptuous view of Carter’s assets. Beneath his T-shirt, muscles rippled along
his chest, while his swim trunks revealed corded thighs.

When he took
off his shirt to swim, things ought to get even better. Buffy could hardly
wait.

Her excitement
grew as they drove out of town, in the opposite direction from Murdock’s ranch.
There was a sense of freedom and open spaces as the houses thinned. Much as she
enjoyed the friendliness of Nowhere Junction, it felt good to escape the
snooping.

Buffy supposed
people would gossip if they got wind of this evening foray. And didn’t care one
bit.

Through the
dusk, she made out handwritten signs tacked to telephone poles, advertising
homemade tortillas and tamales. Thank goodness residents didn’t mind buying
things on an informal basis. It boded well for her merchandising plans.

After a few
miles, they turned from the highway beneath an arched sign that read Nowhere
Junction Country Club, and bounced along a two-lane road. The cactus-strewn
land on either side, Carter assured her, constituted a nine-hole golf course.

“Not that
we’ve produced any championship golfers,” he admitted. “But we’ve never
produced any champion swimmers, either. That doesn’t mean people can’t enjoy
themselves.”

“Looks like
the whole place is a sand trap,” she observed.

“On the other
hand, there’s no water hazard.”

Buffy had
never taken to golf because she couldn’t hold still long enough to line up her
shots. She wondered if, playing amid cactus, her erratic approach might not be
as good as any.

The clubhouse,
a square stone-faced building, had a shaded porch along one side and a large
patio. “That’s where we barbecue goats after the Memorial Day parade,” Carter
said.

“You have a
parade?” She decided to skip the subject of goats.

“We gussy up
the trucks and compete for prizes,” he said. “It’s not like what you folks do at
the Rose Bowl on New Year’s Day, but I’ll bet we have more fun.”

“I’ll bet you
do, too,” she said, remembering the time she and her mother and sister had
camped overnight on the sidewalk in Pasadena to have a good spot for viewing.
It had been damp and chilly, she’d desperately needed to go to the bathroom and
the floats, while spectacular, had taken forever to arrive.

Later that
night, watching the rerun on television, she’d been able to relax and pick out
delightful details on the floats. Still, being there in person and sharing the
moment with a crowd of happy families had been an experience to remember.

The truck
halted in an empty parking lot. Around them stretched the land, devoid of human
habitation. With twilight falling, Buffy felt as if they’d landed on the far
side of the moon.

“The pool’s
around back.” Carter grabbed their towels off the seat. “Ready?”

Having lost
the dressing contest, and not eager to do the dishes, Buffy flung open her door
and jumped out. “Last one to the pool has to do the washing, and I’ll dry.”

“I don’t much
care for the way you put that.” Carter slammed the truck shut and started after
her.

Buffy lit out
full speed, glad she’d worn tennis shoes in anticipation of some heavy-duty
fence climbing. Head down, she set her legs to pumping. Not for nothing had she
worked out daily since giving birth.

Even so, she
could feel Carter moving alongside, those long legs stretching. It was unfair!
Tall men should receive more of a handicap than simply being caught off guard.

“Look out!”
she yelled, although there was nothing ahead but open space.

He hesitated,
just long enough. She sprinted to the wire mesh fence, grabbed it and whooped,
“I win! I win!”

Reaching the
fence, Carter cocked his head as he regarded her. In the rising moonlight, she
couldn’t tell if his expression indicated annoyance, disbelief or grudging
admiration. Finally he said in a flat tone, “You cheated.”

“Says who?”
Buffy asked. “I didn’t trip you. It’s not my fault you fell for a stupid
trick.” She could see she wasn’t making any headway, so she went on the
offensive. “Well, if you’re going to whine about it, never mind. I’ll do the
dishes myself even though I cooked.”

“We’ll both do
the dishes.” In the quiet night air, his baritone voice rang with steely
resolve. “Like you said, you can dry.”

“Whatever.”
She measured the fence with her gaze and judged it to be at least eight feet
high. “This thing isn’t electrified, is it?”

“We’re trying
to keep the kids safe, not fry them,” he said. “And heaven help us if we zapped
a skunk.”

“Is there an
alarm?”

“Who’d hear it
if there was?”

“Good point,”
said Buffy and, digging the toes of her shoes into the lower mesh openings,
began to climb.

A pair of
strong hands clasped her waist. “I’ll give you a boost.” In his powerful grip,
she rose lightly through the air.

Working on car
engines must do a superb job of building coordination as well as muscles, she
thought. Having developed his strength through years of concentrated work, this
man knew how to use it smoothly.

His steadiness
transmitted itself into her nervous system. Despite her position in midair,
Buffy trusted him completely.

He set her
against the fence close to the top. “Think you can handle that?” Carter asked.
“You might want to wait till I climb over so I can catch you. It’s quite a drop
on the other side.”

“No problem.”
Buffy balanced, grateful for his steadying grip on her arm as she swung one leg
across the top. She shifted her weight to the other side. “I’m in!” She
scrabbled downward a few feet, then dropped the rest of the way. “Are you
coming?”

“Since you didn’t wait
for my help, no reason for me to risk life and limb,” he returned easily. “Over
there.”

Buffy followed
his gesture to where the moonlight showed her a locked gate. “Now what?”

“There’s a
safety device that lets you release it from the inside.” Carter pointed to a
button on a freestanding post. Simple enough, Buffy thought. She pressed it and
the gate snicked open.

When Carter
joined her, she hugged him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You could see
me the whole time.”

“I kept
getting the sense that something had come between us,” she teased and backed
away.

He chuckled.
“Together at last.”

“I’m glad we
don’t have to play mountaineers on the way out,” Buffy said. “Hey, what’s
that?”

“What’s what?”

A tiny light
winked on and off above the pool. Then another, and another. They reminded her
of Tinkerbell in a stage version of
Peter Pan
she’d seen long ago. “I
thought I saw a couple of
 
those in your
yard the other night, but I figured I was imagining it.”

He regarded
her in amusement. “Haven’t you ever seen a lightning bug?”

“Is that what
the rest of us call fireflies?”

“Same thing.”

“I’ve never
seen one of those, either.” Buffy watched the fairylike lights flash here and
there. “They’re pretty. They don’t bite, do they?”

“Not as far as
I know,” Carter said. “It’s the mosquitoes that bear watching.” As he spoke,
silver moonlight gleamed across his sculpted chest and flat stomach, and gave
his gray eyes a wolflike shrewdness. The swim trunks hung low on his hips.

“Waiting for
something?” he asked.

She knew very
well that, having seen the outlines of a bikini beneath her clothes, he wanted
to study her body, too. The same mischievous imp as before, not content with
having brought them this far, made her stretch things out. Slow and tempting,
that was the ticket.

Buffy removed
her shoes and set them aside neatly. She unfastened her shorts and wiggled them
down, then kicked them off. Was it her fault they smacked Carter in the chest?
“Watch out!”

“I am watching
out.” He tossed her shorts onto a lounge chair. “If I weren’t, we’d both be
naked, and we wouldn’t be swimming, either.”

His boldness
made Buffy’s breath come faster. She knew she’d asked for trouble, bringing him
out here and flirting with him. A part of her ached to get to know him very,
very well indeed. Several parts, actually.

But Carter was
different from any other man she’d ever met. Although he would never lie to her
or deliberately hurt her, the truth was that she didn’t fit into his world or
his heart.

For one
wistful moment, Buffy wished she did. That somehow a square peg and a round
hole could fit together without squashing the corners or nicking the curves.
But he would have to love her so much that the differences didn’t matter, and
she would have to trust him completely with a heart so bruised it might never
be whole again.

They were
safer keeping space between them.

“Let’s hit the
pool.” She slipped off the polo shirt that covered her minuscule bikini top,
and wished that what it covered wasn’t also minuscule. Roger had pressed her
repeatedly to have breast implants—everybody in L.A. did, he’d insisted,
including some of the men.

In most
regards, Buffy hadn’t stood up to him. But having a surgeon alter her body to
suit someone else just felt wrong. If she’d been eager for big boobs, that
might be a different story. Still, she remained self-conscious at moments like
this.
 

Anxious to
hide her shortcomings, she took a couple of strides and dived into the pool.
When Carter hit the water, they cut through it side by side.

While her
shorter legs put her at a disadvantage, Buffy had grown up around water. A
summer surfer and a junior lifeguard, she’d swum competitively in high school.
She’d aimed at becoming captain of a swim team, any swim team, but her family
had moved around too much.

All the same,
she was grateful now for her training. Because, in spite of everything, she
enjoyed looking graceful for Carter.

*

He wasn’t sure
how he plowed through the water without churning up a huge wake. He felt all
protuberances and awkward angles, not to mention so overheated that the pool
must be near the boiling point.

Although
they’d kept their swimsuits on, Buffy might as well be naked. Of course,
bikinis had long ago reached Nowhere Junction. He saw them every summer, on all
kinds of figures. None compared to hers.

A man could
write poems about a woman like Buffy, if he were so inclined. He’d have to
mention the nipped-in waist and the delicate build and those small breasts that
would fit in the palms of his hands. Little mounds like that were the most
sensitive kind, he’d heard.

When her leg
grazed his, Carter discovered the woman had the smoothest skin he’d ever
imagined. The impression intensified when his hand accidentally touched her
hip, the portion bared by the bikini bottom.

He might
explode, any minute. Folks would have to organize a search party and pick up
little pieces of Carter Murchison all over the county until they had enough to
bury him properly.

He stopped
swimming laps and drifted to one side. “You’re a heck of a good freestyler.”

“Thanks.”
Flipping, she floated on her back, blonde hair spread across the water. She
looked vulnerable and inviting.

It was harder
than ever to restrain himself. But he would resist, absolutely and ruthlessly,
Carter resolved. Whatever he missed, it wouldn’t cost nearly as much as what he
stood to lose if he loved unwisely and too well.

Of all people,
he should know.

*

Why hadn’t he
hugged her or kissed her? Buffy wondered when she woke up on Friday morning.
Not that she intended to go any further than that, but for heaven’s sake,
they’d been nearly naked. Had her skimpy chest put him off?

Oh,
seriously. Carter isn’t that shallow.

He wasn’t the
type to take advantage of a woman, she mused as she picked up the baby to
nurse. He wasn’t the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type, and neither was she.

She wished she
hadn’t dreamed all night about his broad, bare chest and powerful shoulders.
There’d been a delicious scene, clearly etched despite the usual waywardness of
dreams, in which he’d lowered her onto a chaise longue and aroused her to
exultation.

It was
dangerous to stay in the same house with such a man. The only alternative,
however, would be to share the tornado shelter with Mazeppa, and that seemed
plain silly, not to mention uncomfortable. Besides, how would she explain it to
Finella and the others if she suddenly moved out?

Buffy frowned
as she shifted the baby to the other breast. She wondered when she’d started
worrying about what her new friends thought. She also felt a brief resentment
at cruel fate. Every other woman she’d ever heard of who nursed a baby enjoyed
a noticeably improved bust size. Some things in this world were simply unfair.

Later, during
breakfast, Carter said little. However, since Mazeppa joined them and finished
the lemon-corned-beef mold with a couple of fried eggs on the side, he didn’t
get much of a chance.

“I sure hope
Willie and Billy Dell Grimes figure out what to call their baby before it
comes, which it’s likely to do any minute,” Zeppa grumbled into her coffee.
“They don’t even know what sex it is. Mimsy Miles offered them a free
ultrasound, but Willie said it isn’t natural to find out in advance. She’s
downright medieval, if you ask me.”