Dream 3 - Finding the Dream (31 page)

Intrigued, Thomas eased her back, frowned into her eyes. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely devastatingly, dangerously gorgeous. Sexy as sin." Her lips trembled at the corners as his frown deepened. "And he still has that the-hell-with-it look in his eye, the one that makes every woman still breathing think she's the one person on earth who could make him care."

"Is that what you think?"

Flattered, she patted his cheek. "I think I admire her taste and, as a woman, her luck. As a mother—I'm terrified of him."

"Maybe I will have a chat with him. Soon." Then he blew out a breath. "Damn it, Susie, I've always liked the boy."

"So have I. There was always something rawly honest about him. And whatever Annie thinks, he wasn't, and isn't, a hoodlum. What he is, is basic."

"And do we want our daughter involved with a basic man who ran off to sea at eighteen and has done any number of things not discussed in polite company?''

She winced. The same thought had passed through her head. "That sounds so snobbish."

"It sounds like parental concern to me. It doesn't matter if she's three or thirty, it's still our job to worry about her."

"And men like Michael come and go on their own whim," she murmured. "They aren't looking for roots. Laura would wither without them. And from what she said, the girls are attached to him. How will it affect them to have another man walk out of their lives?" She burrowed against him. "There's nothing we can do but be there for them."

"Then that's what we'll do. We watched Margo and Kate find the way through their problems. Laura will get through."

"And they have each other." She shifted so that they could look out toward the cliffs together. "The three of them are always there for each other. That shop of theirs has worked magic for them. Whatever happens, Laura has them, and the pride in what they've built together. But I'm greedy, Tommy."

She took his hand, laid it on her heart. "I want her to have her dream. I want her to have what we have. I want to believe that she'll stand at the window, look toward the sea, with a man's arms around her. A man who loves her and will stand by her. A man who can make her feel the way you make me feel."

She cupped his face in her hands. "So I'm going to believe it. And if she's got any of me inside her, she'll fight for what she wants. The way I fought for you."

"You ignored me," he reminded her. "Wouldn't give me the time of day."

Her smile bloomed slowly. "And it worked, didn't it? Perfectly. Then one day I let you find me, by calculated accident, alone in the rose garden at the club. And I let you kiss me, like this." She lifted her mouth, drew the kiss out, warm and slow. "And Tommy Templeton, never seeing the punch, went down for the count."

"You always were sneaky, Susie." He swung her up into his arms and made her laugh.

"And I got exactly what I wanted. Just," she murmured as he lowered her to the rug, "the way I'm going to get exactly what I want right now."

Laura saw the lights in the tower room as she walked toward the cliffs. And for a moment she stood watching the silhouette of her parents embracing. It was a lovely sight, stirred her heart. And her envy.

They fit so perfectly together, she thought, turning back toward the song of the sea. Their rhythms, their styles, their goals, their needs.

She'd learned, the hard way, that what her parents had, what they worked for and preserved, wasn't a given but a rarity to be celebrated.

Her new perspective only brought her more admiration for them.

She walked the cliffs alone, something she hadn't done for weeks. She wanted Michael. The low hum of desire was constant and thrilling, but she wouldn't go to him tonight. Nor, she believed, did he expect her.

They had parted awkwardly. She, undeniably embarrassed at having been caught frolicking in the pool by her own mother. He, obviously uncomfortable. She thought they both would need time to adjust.

The light was strong, glowing, with the clouds chased away to clear skies by a stiff westerly wind. As familiar with the cliffs as with her own parlor, Laura picked her way down, easily negotiating rocks and a path slippery with pebbles until she came to a favored ledge.

There she sat, letting the wind whip at her face and the sea thunder in her ears. And there, listening for the whisper of ghosts, thinking of lost love, she was content.

From his window, Michael watched her go down the slope, the long, loose jacket she wore streaming out behind her like a cloak. Romantic, mysterious. He pressed his hand to the glass as if he could touch her. Then drew it back, irritated with himself.

She wasn't coming to him. Small wonder, he thought, hooking his thumbs in his pockets as he watched her climb down rocks as gracefully as a fawn. Her parents were back, and with them, he expected, came a reminder of the difference in their positions.

Laura Templeton may have been working for a living, she may have scrubbed a few bathtubs, but she was still Laura Templeton. And he was still Michael Fury, from the wrong side of the hill.

She'd be busy now, he supposed. Entertaining, scheduling dinner parties during her parents' stay. Those fancy, flower-bedecked, exclusive affairs that Templeton House was renowned for.

There would be lunch at the club, quick rounds of tennis, erudite conversations over coffee and brandy.

The ritual was more foreign to him than Greek.

And he had no desire to learn either.

So, if she was going to brush him off, what was the difference? With a shrug, he turned away from the window and stripped off his shirt. He could lure her back into the sack another time or two if he wanted. Sex was nothing more than a weakness. He could exploit hers to satisfy his own.

He heaved the shirt aside, frustrated that it wasn't something hard and breakable. Goddamn it, he wanted her. Now. Here. With him.

Who the hell did she think she was?

Who the hell did he think he was?

Eyes grim, he pulled off his boots and threw them both against the wall, where they at least made a satisfying thud.

He knew exactly who he was, and so, he thought, did she. Laura Templeton was going to find herself hard-pressed to shake him loose until he was damn good and ready. He wasn't finished with her yet, not by a long shot.

She could have tonight, he thought, stripping off his jeans. He'd let her have tonight all quiet and safe. Because her nights weren't going to stay quiet, and they weren't going to stay safe.

He dropped naked to the bed and glared at the ceiling. And he would have her right back where he wanted her. The hell with her parents, her fancy friends, and her perfect pedigree.

She'd taken on a mongrel. Now she'd have to deal with him.

From her perch on the ledge, Laura stretched her arms up. Cool, damp air caressed her skin where the sleeves of her jacket fell down to her elbows. She thought of how Michael caressed that skin. Rough and demanding one moment, then the next with surprising and devastating tenderness.

He had so many moods, she thought, so many needs. He had in such a short time awakened so many moods, so many needs in her. No, she was no Sleeping Beauty, she reflected, but she felt as though she'd been sleeping for decades. Waiting for him to find her.

And he had, she realized. They'd found each other. So why was she sitting here alone, trying to reorganize her schedule for the next day, and the day after that? Tomorrow would come anyway. She could be with him right now. She'd go to him. Laura closed her eyes tight, wished. If his lights were still on when she stood and looked back, she would go to him. And he would be there waiting, wanting.

She stood, holding her breath, and turned. And let it out again as she saw nothing but night and the deeper silhouettes of darkened buildings.

He hadn't waited.

She brushed the chill from her arms, calling it foolish. It wasn't rejection, it only meant he was tired and had gone to bed. And she should do that herself. There were dozens of things that needed to be done the next day that would be done better after a good night's sleep.

And they weren't bound to spend every night together. There'd been no promises between them. None at all, she thought, furious that her eyes stung as she turned back to the sea. No promises, no plans, no soft words.

Was that what she wanted, still? After she should have known better? What weakness was this in her that craved those words, those promises, those plans? Couldn't she be content with what was and not always dream about what could be?

It didn't matter what she'd told herself, she realized, as she sat down again. It didn't matter what she'd told her mother, or Margo or Kate. Or what she'd told Michael. It had all been lies. She, who was famous for being a pathetically poor liar, had pulled this one off beautifully.

She was in love with him. She was so stupidly in love with him, and no one had a clue. Part of her had already seen them together, tomorrow, a year from tomorrow, ten years. Lovers, partners, family. More children, a home, a life.

She'd lied to him, to everyone, including herself. And now, as it was with lies, she would have to continue to spin them, and live them, to make the first of them hold.

It wouldn't be fair to him otherwise. For he hadn't lied.

He had wanted her, and she had no doubt that he cared for her. He cared for her children, was willing to offer a hand to help. He gave her his body, had awakened hers, and had offered her a friendship that she valued.

And still she wasn't satisfied.

Selfish, she wondered, or just foolish? It hardly mattered. She had created the illusion and would continue it. Or lose him.

When it was over, whenever it ended, she wouldn't regret it or curse God. She'd go on, because life was long and precious and deserved the best she could give it. When the time came and she had no choice but to live without him, she'd remember what it had been like to feel again, and to love. And she'd be grateful.

Steadier now, she braced a hand on the ground to push herself up. Her fingers closed over the disk as if they'd known it was there, waiting for her. With her heart drumming, loud as the waves below, she lifted it up, turned it under the stream of the moonlight.

It glinted dully, the single gold coin. Untouched, she thought with a shiver, unseen, for a hundred and fifty years. Since a young girl, desperate, had hidden it away to save for her lover. This, the symbol of the dream, the promise and the loss, lay cool in the center of her palm.

"Seraphina," she murmured. And her breath caught as she closed her fingers over the coin, as she felt the wild need of a reckless young girl.

Laura curled into a ball on the ledge, high over the violent waves. And wept.

Contents
-
Prev
|
Next

The sorrel colt was bright, pretty, and stubborn as a flea-bitten mule. Michael was working hard to prove that he was even more stubborn.

"By God, you'll do it, you little bastard. You know how."

As if to say that was hardly the point, the colt tossed his head, rolled his eyes in Michael's direction, and stood firm. They'd been dealing with each other for just over six months, and both of them wanted to be in charge.

"You think you've got these fancy digs and three squares to stand around posing?" Michael slapped the bat in his hand, and the colt's ears flickered. "You even think about kicking me again and you'll be eating dirt."

He stepped forward, the colt danced back. Michael's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Hold!"

Vibrating, the colt did so, pawing the ground in challenge as Michael approached.

"You and me," Michael said, gripping the bridle as the colt began to swing around to get a good shot with his back leg, "we're going to go a round."

"Don't you dare strike that animal."

Both Michael and the colt looked up in annoyance at the sharp order and saw the trim form swinging through the paddock gate.

"You should be ashamed of yourself." Fired up, Susan grabbed the colt's bridle and stepped between the horse and the bat. "I don't care if he belongs to you or not. I won't have an animal mistreated on my property."

As if realizing that sympathy was on his side, the colt lowered his head and nuzzled Susan's shoulder.

"Suck up," Michael muttered. "Look, Mrs. Templeton, I—"

"Is this the way you treat your horses? Clubbing them when they don't behave as you'd like? You brute." Color flashed into her cheeks, reminding Michael of Laura. "If you dare to raise a hand to one of these animals while I'm around, I'll personally kick your butt off Templeton property and halfway to hell."

Yes, he could see now where Laura got those licks of temper he'd caught a few glimpses of. And he could have sworn the colt was smirking at him. "Mrs. Templeton—"

"Then I'll have you arrested," she barreled on. "There are laws against cruelty to animals. Laws created to deal with insensitive brutes like you. And if you ever dare to mistreat this sweet horse—"

"There's not a sweet bone in his body," Michael interrupted, resisting the urge to rub the thigh that still sang from its rude encounter with a hoof. "And I wasn't going to use this to beat sense into his hard head, though it's tempting."