Her Passionate Plan B (11 page)

Behind the cereal he found a tin of cocoa with maybe an inch or so left in the bottom. Without bothering to read the instructions, he poured milk into a pan, dumped in some sugar and emptied the cocoa tin, listening all the while for sounds to tell him how near ready she was. If she got through in the bathroom and fell asleep before the stuff was hot he'd just have to wake her up. One way or another, he intended to share something with her before he left tomorrow, even if it was only a mug of cocoa.

He heard the pump cut on, heard the door of the medicine cabinet open and close. He called softly, “Daisy? This stuff's about ready.”

“Library,” she called through the closed door.

Uh-huh. She didn't trust him to take it to her bedroom. Smart lady.

Daisy always slept in nylon not because it was sexy, but because cotton pajamas twisted around her. A restless sleeper, especially when she had a lot on her mind, she usually changed positions at least a dozen times during the night. Now shoving her arms in the sleeves of a faded pink terry-cloth robe, she looped the sash twice around her waist and knotted it, then waited until Kell left the kitchen to follow him to the library.

She smelled the cocoa even before she entered the room, the rich, slightly burnt scent intermingled with floor wax and furniture polish. Kell had set it on the desk and was looking over the rows of books, all dusted and ready for the librarian, the historical society, or whoever ended up with them.

“Looks like Uncle Harve had a lot of different interests,” Kell said.

It took her a moment to react to the words, she was so busy reacting to the man himself. Even standing there with his back to her, hip cocked and chin resting in one hand, he reminded her of a big, sleepy cat, trying to make up his mind whether or not to pounce.

There was nothing at all sleepy about his eyes when he turned to face her. They were glowing like a pair of blue flames. “Judging from all these titles, I mean.”

Titles? Oh—books. Turn on your brain, woman!
“Um…yes, he did. That is, he was. It was one of the things I liked best about him—he had such an—an inquiring mind.”
Stop looking at me that way!

“Astronomy, geology, history—what's numismatics?”

“Coins. Oh—did Egbert tell you Harvey left his coin collection to Faylene? It turned out to be only a few hundred Susan B. Anthony dollars, worth face value, but
still it was really sweet of him. She'd been with him for nearly fourteen years, you know, even though for the past few years, ever since he closed off most of the rooms, she only worked two or three days a week.”

And I'm chattering like a monkey, she thought hopelessly. She should have gone straight to bed and stayed there for the foreseeable future, or at least until she was sure he'd gone back to Oklahoma.

“That's great,” he said. Collecting the two mugs of cocoa, he handed her one. “She strikes me as a good worker. Glad Uncle Harvey appreciated her. Here, drink this stuff before it gets any colder. I don't know if it's sweet enough or not, I didn't use any measurements.”

“Just so you didn't add any horseradish.”

He chuckled, drawing her attention to his mouth. If a mouth could be called tempting, his was. Full lower lip, nice bow, uptilted corners.

Shut up and drink your cocoa, stupid!

A skim had already formed on the top. Ignoring it, Daisy lifted her mug, gulped and tried not to shudder. “I just thought you should know. About the coins, that is. I mean, I don't know how much Egbert told you, but the local historical society is the main beneficiary. They get the house, termites and all. I'm not sure about the furniture. Maybe they can sell it to pay for repairs.”

Staring at her lips, Kell took a sip, made a face and set the thing down on the tray. “Ouch. Stuff's pretty bad, isn't it? You don't have to drink it.”

“No, it's fine,” she insisted, forcing a smile to prove it.

His gaze never leaving her face, he lifted the mug from her hands, set it on the tray and then touched her lips with his thumb. Swallowing hard, Daisy found her
self unable to look away. He said something about chocolate and then he leaned closer. A moment before his face went out of focus she closed her eyes.

The taste of bitter chocolate only enhanced a kiss that was sheer seduction, soft, warm and moist. With his tongue, he touched the corners of her mouth, stroked her lips and then went on to rob her of any lingering will to resist.

Kell tried to go slow. The last thing he wanted to do was to spook her into running away from him, because once she shut that bedroom door, that was it. Whatever happened between them had to be mutual or it was no go.

He wanted her so much his hands were shaking, but for all his experience with the opposite sex, he'd never met anyone like Daisy Hunter. For one thing, she had never even tried to attract him. No sexy outfits, no sexy makeup—hell, she didn't even wear perfume, just that lotion stuff she rubbed on her hands and arms. She was…the word
real
came to mind. Not only that, but her entire life was devoted to taking care of other people.

When was the last time anyone had taken care of her? Did she even have someone who cared enough to make her hot cocoa when she was tired and needy? To see that she got enough rest? Someone to doctor her hurts and to lift heavy things for her—to put her to bed and then crawl in beside her and hold her while she slept?

The fact that he wanted to do all those things, especially the last, was downright scary. Over the past twenty-odd years he'd known a lot of women, but he had never entered any relationship feeling the way he felt now. He always took care to spell out the ground rules
going into an affair—a no-fault affair where both parties were free to walk at any time.

With Daisy there weren't any rules. He found himself wanting to know everything there was to know about her, starting with what she'd been like as a little girl and ending with what she'd be like when those laugh lines deepened and multiplied, and her hair was more gray than blond.

And if that weren't scary enough, he found himself wondering how she felt about kids.

How she felt about him.

But all that would have to wait. Because right now he had an even more desperate need, one he could only hope was mutual.

T
he sofa was too narrow for what he had in mind, but there was a perfectly good bed going to waste just down the hall. She had moved downstairs once they'd finished cleaning the second floor.

“Your place okay?” he rasped, figuring a trek down the hall might allow him to cool off just enough to do the job properly. He'd never had trouble with a short fuse before, but then, he'd never made love to a woman like Daisy.

“Mmm,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling away.

“Race you,” he teased. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could crawl, much less run. In the doorway, they paused for another lingering kiss that only served to deepen the hunger, not to abate it.

When she opened the door, his attention zeroed in on the bed. Neatly made, it was obviously too short and too
narrow for a good night's sleep. But then, sleep was the last thing on his mind.

She was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe over a scrap of white nylon. The sash had been wrapped around her waist and tied in a hard knot. If she thought that would protect her, she was sadly mistaken.

Obviously she had no such thought, as she plucked at the knot until it came loose and then let the robe slide off her shoulders onto the floor. “I can't believe I'm so nervous,” she whispered with a brittle little laugh.

“Just say the word any time and we'll stop.” If it killed him—and it probably would.

With unsteady hands he lifted her gown and eased it over her head, leaving her in only a pair of plain white cotton underpants. Not high-cut, not low-cut, and definitely not thongs.

Trying hard to regulate his breathing, he ripped his shirt over his head and unbuckled his belt. “I can't believe—that is, I never knew—” He broke off, shaking his head.

Averting her face, she sat on her hands on the side of the bed. “You can't believe what? You never knew what?”

He tried to take off his pants before he remembered to remove his boots and ended up hopping on one foot. “I forgot what I was talking about.” Kell Magee, MVP two years in a row, a man who'd been mobbed for his autograph by countless female groupies, was nervous as a cat in a pound full of dogs.

He said, “I like your underwear,” and smacked himself on the forehead. “Ah, jeez, I can't believe I said that!”

Daisy laughed, and then she stood up and shed her plain white cotton underpants. No posturing, no sneak
ing a look to see if he was enjoying the show, she simply pulled down the elastic, stepped out of the things and tossed them onto a wicker hamper.

Her hips were nicely flared, her waist narrow and flat. She had freckles on her upper chest, small breasts and tan lines all over the place, probably from working in the yard.

And not once, not even in the raunchy bars where lap dancing was the favored sport, could Kell recall seeing anything so seductive. Her breasts fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, that much he already knew. Before this week, if he had drawn up specifications for his ideal woman, Daisy wouldn't have come anywhere close to fitting them. Yet everything about her was right. It was as if he'd found a vital part of himself that he'd never even known was missing.

Instead of lying back on the pillows and striking a seductive pose, she just sat there, looking him over. Making him feel proud and embarrassed at the same time. “Uh…you're not going to change your mind, are you?” he asked anxiously.
Smooth, Magee—really smooth.

Without taking her eyes from the strip of hair that arrowed down from his chest to the southern hemisphere, she shook her head. “Um—they're in the bedside-table drawer.”

His were in his wallet on the floor. Curious to see if she liked plain, ribbed, colored or flavored, he nodded. She stretched out on the bed, still watching him almost warily. He said, “Daisy, are you sure about this? I mean, we don't have to. There's no truth in that old blue-ball rumor. It's just—”

“I know. Kell, I know all there is to know about sex
technically, but I haven't done this in a long time. Please don't expect too much. I never was very good at it.”

He swore then, long and quietly. How could any woman this desirable even think such a thing, much less express it? Unless some impotent jackass had deliberately tried to blame her for his own shortcomings.

Easing his arms under her knees and shoulders, he shifted her over to make room so he could lie down beside her. Then, covering both her legs with one of his, he leaned over and brushed her hair away from her face.
Easy, easy—don't rush her, Magee.

But no matter how much he wanted to take it slow and easy, Kell had a feeling fast and furious was inevitable. At least the first few times.

Using all the skill at his command, plus a tenderness he had never even come close to feeling before, he began searching out each sensitive place on her body, starting with her small pink ears and kissing his way down to the hollow of her throat. The warm hollow under her arm, so personal, so private—the insides of her elbow where the blue veins led from her heart to her hands. Nipping, tasting his way, he returned to her shoulders and then to her breasts. Her small, perfect, rose-scented breasts where her small, proud nipples begged for his attention.

She was exquisitely sensitive there and in the soft place surrounding her navel…and in the shadowy crease of her groin.

When he tasted her there she caught a shuddering breath and gasped, “My turn.”

Oh, no, not now, he thought, desperately close to the edge. But obediently, he lay still under her ministrations, the scent of her arousal teasing his nostrils as she fin
gered her way down his body. First, his nipples, then the arrow of dark hair that led south, lingering at the equator, her fingers playing there while her tongue flicked his nipple until he thought he'd explode. The closer she came to the South Pole, the more rigid he became, his breath coming in tight gasps until he could stand it no longer.

Tense as a bowstring, he lifted her, eased her over onto her back and stared down at her. Her heart was pounding visibly, the aphrodisiac scent of her heat alone enough to shove him over the edge. Trembling, he palmed her mound, forcing himself not to move too quickly. This had to be perfect for her, even if it meant putting his own release on hold indefinitely.

Her face was flushed, her eyes dark and bright as he began his most intimate exploration. She was moist, hot and ready, but still he waited. Slowly lowering his face to her soap-scented belly, he entered her with his finger, moving gently, preparing the way.

Now, now! his body shouted.

“Please,” she whimpered.

Delaying the inevitable as long as possible, he used his experience unselfishly for once as he set about driving her out of her mind with pleasure before moving up her body. She was whimpering, gasping for breath by the time he eased inside her. Not until she lifted her hips, her fingernails biting into his shoulders, did his self-imposed restraint break.

Once he began to thrust it ended far too quickly in a cataclysmic release that left them both trembling and gasping for air. Waves of indescribable pleasure washed over them.

Aeons later when her brain cells began to function again, it occurred to Daisy to marvel at how rarely it happened that way. From all she'd learned as a nurse, plus articles she'd read in women's magazines, not to mention the frank talk among friends, she knew that men sought their own pleasure. Only then, if one happened to be skilled enough and generous enough—or even still awake—would he take care of his mate.

Daisy let herself drift through soft clouds of sex-scented darkness until gradually it occurred to her that fate must have had a hand in what had just happened. She'd never been superstitious—she certainly wasn't into any of that New Age stuff. All the same, when she thought about it…

Cause and effect? First she'd taken on Harvey as a patient when she'd had three to choose from. Then her apartment building had been damaged in the hurricane. That led her to moving in with him—fate had nothing to do with it.

But then there was Kell.

Oh, my, yes, she thought, a dreamy smile softening her face as she gazed at the man lying beside her, his angular face slack in repose. Even in the dim light from the hall he looked familiar, as if she'd known him all her life, only she hadn't known where to find him.

Instead, he'd found her.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?” he murmured without opening his eyes.

Trying for blasé and missing it by a mile, she said, “Don't push it, Magee. Halfway decent I might accept, but no more.”

He smiled, still without opening his eyes. “Okay
then, but you're about the most halfway decent woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, and that includes centerfolds.”

Even as strung out as a fiddle tuned an octave too high, there was no way Daisy could take it as anything other than gentle, good-natured teasing intended to put her at ease. It was almost as if he'd known about the subtly barbed remarks that used to accompany Jerry's rough, hurried attempts at making love. There'd been no love involved, only she hadn't realized it at the time.

Now, after watching a man go to such lengths to rescue a mud turtle, it took only the amazing fact that he could tease her at a time like this to tell her what she'd already suspected.

She was so in love. So head-over-heart-over-heels in love with a here-today, gone-tomorrow man who could set her on fire with just the sound of his voice. So much for all her fine plans for the future.

“'Course, if you'd had the body of a cow and a face like the grill of a Mack truck, I might've had a few second thoughts. Lucky for me, though, you turned out pretty decent.”

A gurgle of laughter escaped her just before he turned over on his side and buried his face in her throat. Wedging her head back on the pillow, she moaned softly as he lifted her hips and entered her again.

 

Kell opened his eyes to darkness, wondering why his backside was freezing. He had a vague recollection of opening a window earlier. Weather must have turned in the night, he thought drowsily. Daisy had rolled up in the covers and he'd been too far gone to claim his share.
Now his butt was freezing, his feet were hanging off the bed and his right arm had gone to sleep.

Overriding all that, there was a warm, sweet woman snuggled up to his groin, smelling of sex and roses, and he was tempted—

Damn, but he was tempted!

But four times in as many hours was stretching it, even for him. It didn't necessarily mean he was getting old, only that he needed a few hours of sleep before tackling anything more strenuous than lying in bed and trying to think of some excuse to get out of a few commitments.

He had his flaws, more than he liked to admit, but going back on his word wasn't one of them.

According to his watch it was already Thursday, and he still had an idea he needed to run past Blalock. His original plan had been to head back in plenty of time to speak with Chief Taylor before Clarice's grand opening and make sure Moxie was in on the festivities. He figured if the kid could be a part of the action from the beginning, even busing tables in a five-table ice-cream shop, it might motivate him to prove something to himself, as well as to the people who'd gone to bat for him.

As it was already too late to head back via I-40, he'd called late yesterday and made reservations on an 11:10 a.m. flight out of Norfolk. Now all he had to do was see Blalock about donating a block of stock to the historical society to be used toward putting the house back in shape and then get to the airport in time to make it through Security.

After dealing with whatever mess Moxie had gotten himself involved in this time and seeing Clarice through her grand opening, he needed to check on the progress
out at the ranch. Two days, he figured—three at the most. With any luck he should be back here before Daisy had time to buckle on her armor again.

Last night he had finally found a clue as to why she was so defensive. At first she'd thought he was trying to horn in on Harvey's estate—at least he'd dispelled that notion. But if it turned out he was right and some jerk had done a bad number on her, she was going to need special handling until he could reassure her of his intentions.

Intentions. Now, there was a scary word in any man's vocabulary. Kell wasn't quite sure how to play it. In the first place, Daisy was nothing at all like the women who usually wound up in his bed. No gloss or glamour, no fancy designer labels, no teasing demands for tangible proof of his affections. Her only jewelry so far as he could tell was a businesslike wristwatch.

Above all, no games. With Daisy Hunter, what you saw was what you got. In the beginning it might have been the challenge that had attracted him—he'd never been able to resist one of those. But somewhere along the way things had changed. The tricky part now was keeping her from bolting while he took care of some unfinished business back home.

Talk about playing by the rules—this was a game he'd never played before. Best he could do was take things one step at a time.

Leaning over, he kissed her on the temple, inhaling the essence of soap, shampoo and warm, sexy woman. Then, smiling in the darkness, he eased out of bed. They both needed sleep. He'd never been able to relax enough on a plane to fall asleep, and he needed at least a couple of hours to get him through the next twenty-four or
so. Her narrow bed, as inviting as the company was, didn't make the cut. One roll in either direction and he'd end up either on the floor or on top of her. In the latter case, sleep wasn't even a faint possibility. As tempted as he was, he wasn't up for an all-nighter, not with everything he had to do in the next few days.

A brief cooling-off period was probably best for all concerned. If this thing they had going here turned out to be real, it should last until he got back. If not…

Oh, hell, he just didn't know. Some of his friends changed women almost as often as they changed shirts. Others married young, stuck it out and actually seemed to enjoy it. Kell was closing in on forty—too late to marry young. On the other hand, maybe this old dog could still learn a few new tricks.