Dream 3 - Finding the Dream (29 page)

He wasn't going to smile, or even smirk. Coming across her like this, seeing her laboring over some ridiculous menial chore after putting in a full day burned him.

"Then hire another one."

"I'm afraid it doesn't fit into the scheme of things just now. In any case, I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself." Taking a closer look, she brushed at his hair. "You seem a little frazzled, Michael. Rough day?"

He'd been in a pisser of a mood since his contractor had estimated it would be six months before the rebuilding was completed. There had been a lot of blah-blah about permits, inspections, zoning, but the upshot was that he was going to be Laura's tenant for a great deal longer than he'd anticipated.

He didn't want to be her tenant, to hand over a rent check every month. It wasn't the money, he thought, fuming. It was the… It was awkward.

"I've had better." He nudged her aside and began to run the vacuum himself. "But we're not talking about me. You can't raise two kids, hold down two jobs, and deal with this sort of nonsense too. Why don't you just close the damn pool?''

"Because I enjoy swimming, and there are a lot of women who do a great deal more than I do and manage very well."

"They're not you." Which said it all in his mind.

"No, they don't have a beautiful home that no one would ever take from them, and they don't necessarily have a job that they're in no danger of jeopardizing if they need to flex their schedule."

Insulted, she fought with him over the pole. "I am not the pampered princess you seem to think. I'm a—" she hissed, tugged—"capable, intelligent woman who can run her life very well. I'm sick and tired of people patting me on the head and saying 'poor Laura' behind my back." She yanked, swore. "I am not poor Laura and I can clean my own goddamn pool. Give me back the stupid pole."

"No." It had calmed him considerably to see her temper flare. It wasn't much of one, as far as he could see, but there was potential in those stormy eyes, flushed cheeks, gritted teeth. "Keep messing with me, sugar, and I'll toss you in. It's a little cool for a dip this evening."

"Fine. Do it yourself. You're a man, after all, and men are so much more capable of doing mindless chores. But I didn't ask for your help, nor do I need it. Nor do I need your sterling advice or your unsolicited criticism on how I handle my life."

"That's telling me," he said equably. "My hands are starting to shake."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "You, too, could be taking a dip."

Interesting, he thought. Did she actually have a physical temper in there? "Is that so? You want to try to take me down?"

"If I did you'd be treading water in—oh, no! Bongo, no!" Insults paled when she caught sight of the pup busily digging up the newly planted pansies. "Stop that! Stop that right now!" She dashed across the pool skirt, snatched up the pup, and frowned at his dirt- and mulch-smeared nose. "How could you? Didn't I tell you no? It's bad. You're not to dig in the flowers."

When she set him down to survey the damage, Bongo cheerfully leaped into the mess and began digging again.

"I said no. Stop it. Why don't you listen to me?"

"Because he knows you're a pushover. Bongo." At Michael's voice, the pup lifted his head and grinned sheepishly. Michael could almost hear the sentiment: "Well, gee, Mick, just having a little fun here." Michael snapped his finger, pointed, and Bongo padded out, shook himself, and sat politely.

Torn between disgust and admiration, Laura hissed between her teeth, "How do you get him to do that?"

"It's a gift."

"That's just great." Disgust won. She dragged her hands through her hair. "I can't control a five-pound puppy."

"Just takes practice, and patience."

"Well, I don't have time to practice now." She was down on her knees in a flash, salvaging bedding plants.

"And I'm out of patience. Old Joe is going to kill me for this."

"Laura." Though it seemed obvious to point it out, Michael crouched and pointed it out anyway. "He works for you."

"A lot you know," she muttered, desperately smoothing upturned mulch with her bare hands. "If I so much as sniff an undesignated rose in his garden, he—'' she broke off, scowling. "Don't just sit there. Help me."

"I thought you didn't need any help."

"Shut up, Michael." She brushed a hand over her cheek, smeared it with garden dirt. "Just shut up and save these pansies before Bongo and I both end up in the pound."

"Since you ask so nice." He shoved roots back into soil and heard her let out a long, keening moan.

"Not like that. For Lord's sake, you're not planting redwoods. Have a little delicacy."

"Sorry. It's my first day on the job." He shook his head as she shifted and knelt in the dirt in a way that was sure to send her trim pastel slacks into the rag heap. And all, he thought, to save the sensibilities of an ancient gardener.

"You run scared of the rest of your staff, too?"

"Damn right. Most of them have been here longer than I have. This could work." Her hands, coated now with black soil, smoothed and patted. "You'll hardly be able to tell when I'm done here. But who am I fooling? He can tell if you pluck a spray of crabgrass, which is fine, as long as you've asked first."

"It's looking fine to me."

"Like you'd know a pansy from a geranium," she muttered.

"Now you're getting nasty. You've got something…" Casually, he swiped his hand over her cheek, adding a fresh layer of dirt. "There. And here, you need a little to even out the look."

"I suppose you think that's funny." Struggling for dignity, she brushed at her face and only succeeded in making it worse.

"No." He picked up a handful of damp pine mulch and dropped it onto her hair. "That's funny."

"A pity I don't have your raucous sense of humor. But let me try." She rubbed both of her filthy hands over his shirt. "There. I'm dying from laughter now."

He glanced down at his shirt. He'd just washed the damn thing. "Now you've done it," he said quietly.

The tone warned her not to inch back, not to bother with reason and excuses. But to run. She sprang to her feet, sending the dog into frantically joyful barks. She managed two sprinting yards before he snagged her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.

"You started it," she managed between choked laughs.

"Uh-huh. So I'm obliged to finish it."

"I'll have your shirt cleaned. Whoops." She watched the world revolve as he flipped her over into his arms. "Why, Mr. Fury, you're so… masterful, so strong, so—what are you doing?" Amusement turned to panic as she caught a glimpse of his direction and realized his intention. "Michael, this isn't funny now."

"Just my raucous sense of humor again," he told her as he strode toward the edge of the pool.

"Don't. Now I mean it, Michael." In self-defense, she locked her arms around his neck. "I'm covered with dirt, and it's chilly, and I've just cleaned the pool."

"Just look at the way it sparkles, too." Controlling her frantic wiggling, he toed off his shoes. "Looks so pretty in the twilight, doesn't it?"

"I will make you pay," she vowed. "I swear I will make you pay if you dare—"

"Hold your breath," he suggested and jumped in.

But she was shrieking when she hit the water, swallowed it, came up choking. "You fool. You idiot. You—" She swallowed more when he pushed her head under.

What he hadn't counted on was that Laura Templeton had been captain of her swim team, had won a drawer full of medals, and had more than once successfully defended herself against a big brother's bullying.

While he treaded water and roared with laughter, she nipped fluidly between his legs, grabbed hold where a man was most vulnerable, and squeezed. She could hear the muffled echo of his yelp, smiled grimly, and yanked downward.

Streaking away, she broke the surface and waited smugly for him to wheeze out breaths and flail toward the side.

"Now that," she said, slicking back her dripping hair, "was funny."

He had his breath back, mostly, and eyed her narrowly. "Want to fight dirty, sugar?"

"This is my element, Michael. You're in over your head."

"Think so?" He'd done more than a few water stunts in his day. He pushed off the side and pursued.

She was faster than he'd given her credit for, and slicker. He knew when he was being taunted—the way she nipped just out of reach in a dive for the bottom. The fluidity with which she changed direction and dodged.

They surfaced again, watching each other over the lapping water. "Wet jeans are constricting."

She cocked her head. "If you need an excuse." She snagged one of her shoes as it floated by, sighed. "Four pair in one day. Has to be a record." Philosophically, she planted her feet and stood.

The water streamed off her, glued the thin material of her blouse to the high, full curve of breast, to the narrow torso and subtle flare of hip. In the shadowed light her dripping hair curled wildly and glowed like wet gold.

"Now you are playing dirty," he murmured.

Pouring the water out of her shoe, she looked over at him. Her hand remained aloft, her eyes on his as he slowly skimmed through the water toward her. As he stood, he slid his hands over her thighs, hips, sides, and left them molded to her breasts.

"Michael." The shoe dropped out of her hand and plopped into the water. "We can't."

"I'm just going to kiss you." His hands slipped wetly to her back, down to cup her bottom as he eased back until they were floating again. "And touch you. And drive us both a little crazy."

"Oh." Her head was already spinning as his teeth caught her lip, tugged. "Well, if that's all."

She wrapped herself around him, let him take her through the cool water. It was her mouth that grew hungrier, more avid, seeking his over and over again, going deeper with tongues tangling, breath clashing.

Need pounded through him with anvil shocks. She was destroying him, her legs gripped hard so that her tight little body molded to his, her hips moving seductively so that sex rubbed sex.

"Laura—"

But she answered with an impatient moan, tunneling her hands through his hair, savaging his throat. His loins began to throb like a wound.

"Hold on a minute."

"I want you." Her voice was thick, the words hot against his skin. "I want you. I want you."

"We can't do this here." Could they? His mind went blank when her mouth fit to his again. He sank with her so that the water surrounded them. Her hair floated out, like the mermaid who watched them from the bottom.

He wanted to keep sinking, sinking, just like this with his mouth hard on hers. Sink into a world where air didn't matter, light didn't matter. Where there was nothing but her and this churning, sweet ache of need.

When they surfaced again, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Then kicked once to keep them afloat. "No." It wasn't a word he'd expected to say to a woman under the circumstances. And it came out weak as he pressed her head onto his shoulder. "You'd better give me a minute."

She floated with him, dizzy with desire, dazed with triumph. "I seduced you."

"Sugar, you damn near killed me."

She threw her head back and laughed. "I seduced you," she repeated, her face glowing. "I didn't know I could. It's… liberating."

"You come on over to my place tonight and you can be as liberated as you want. Right now, keep your hands off me."

She linked her hands behind his neck, easing back so that she could see his face in the falling light. "You wanted to tear my clothes off again."

"I'm still thinking about it, so behave yourself."

"I wanted to tear yours off, too. I wonder what that would feel like, to just rip away at your clothes, and… bite you. Sometimes I just want to sink my teeth into your—"

"Shut up." In defense, he cupped her head and pulled it to his shoulder again. "I think I've created a monster."

"I don't know about that, but you sure hit the switch. I like it." She laughed again and arched back so that she was floating from the waist up. "Let's come back here tonight when everyone's asleep and go skinny-dipping and make love in the water. Then we'll go for a walk on the cliffs and make love there, just like Seraphina and Felipe."

She rose up again, water streaming from her. "Let's do something crazy."

He was about to do something crazy just then, when he caught the sound of footsteps on the path, and movement. Subtly, he hoped, he changed his grip, hoping he wasn't holding any inappropriate part of the daughter of the house.

"Laura?" Susan Templeton's brows shot up into her spiky bangs. She didn't consider herself to be a woman who was easily surprised, but it certainly rocked her to see her daughter clinging to a man in the pool with the look of a woman who had recently been thoroughly aroused still on her face.

"Mom?'' Shock came first, then the heat in her cheeks from embarrassment. She wiggled, but Michael held firm. Neither of them knew if it was out of stubbornness or habit. "You're here."

"Yes. I am."

"But you were supposed to be here tomorrow."

"We finished up our business a little early." She spoke smoothly. But then, she was a smooth woman. Small and delicately built like her daughter, she looked young and chic in her Valentino traveling suit, her dark blond hair capped gamine style around a sharp, interested face.

"We thought," she said with a faint edge of amusement, "that we'd surprise you. I think we succeeded."

"Yes. I was just—we were… How was the trip?" Laura ended lamely.

"Fine." Manners polished to a high sheen, Susan stepped forward, smiled. "It's Michael, isn't it? Michael Fury?"

"Yeah." With a jerk of his head he tossed his wet hair back. "Nice to see you again, Mrs. Templeton."