My Fair Gentleman (17 page)

He slid his hands down bare skin to her satin derriere and cupped the slippery curves. The liquid fire rose, pulsed, threatened to erupt. He squeezed the flesh-warmed satin filling his hands, then slipped an arm beneath her knees and swept her up against his chest. If he didn’t slow things down he’d be done for, and he’d waited too long, wanted to please Catherine too much, for him to let that happen.

He carried her to the edge of the bed and sat, positioning her as he wanted in his lap. “Let’s just sit for a minute, okay?”

She searched his eyes, her hesitancy changing to cat-that-ate-the-fish-stick satisfaction. “Your thighs are so hard they don’t feel human,” she murmured, testing the muscles with a probing touch. “All those
deep knee bends behind the plate must be better than a StairMaster.”

He made a noncommittal sound, his attention focused on her shifting bottom. Grinding his teeth, he cursed himself for not putting more space between them.

Her fingers fluttered over the biceps of his left arm and settled like a white dove. “You’re very strong and you have a beautiful body. But you want to know what’s really sexy?”

Did a pitcher chew tobacco? “What?”

“Your.brain.”

He peered suspiciously down at her upturned face. “My what?”

“Your brain. Watching you these past weeks, seeing you stop hiding your intelligence behind all that brawn…” Her eyes darkened with unmistakable desire. “There’s nothing you can’t do now if you set your mind to it, Joe. That’s incredibly sexy.”

So much for slowing down. He gathered her close in his arms and rocked a joyful moment. “Ah, Catherine. Only you can compliment my brain and give me the hard-on of a lifetime.”

“I can?” She pushed away from his chest and studied him hopefully.

Half-laughing, half-groaning, he scooted her to one thigh, captured her hand and curled her fingers over the proof.

“I did,” she stated, her voice wondrous, her expression awed.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe for the emotion filling his chest. She’d had so little love in her life, this warm and giving woman. She deserved to wallow in it, to drown in it, for the rest of her days on earth.
And worthy or not, he wanted to be the one to give it to her—not some goddamn Pretty Boy.

“Joe?” The hesitancy was back in her eyes.

His face must look as fierce as he felt.

“We’ve sat long enough,” he said, cinching his arms around her waist and falling back, back onto the soft springy mattress.

She sprawled across his chest, but he rolled with her until she lay beneath him, wide-eyed and expectant, her kiss-swollen lips parted along with her legs. He rose up on his elbows and she thrust beneath him once as if unable to help herself.

It was all he could do not to get free of his jeans and bury himself deep and hard and
now,

“Easy,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss a creamy shoulder, a delicate collarbone, the V of her gown’s plunging neckline.

He slipped the thin straps off her shoulders and peeled the sensuous material down, exposing translucent white flesh softer than her fine satin gown. As he paid homage to her small perfect breasts, her breathing changed to soft aroused pants. He lavished attention on her narrow rib cage and the sweet valley between her hipbones, thrilling to the restless moan he wrenched from her throat.

When he moved lower she stopped breathing altogether. He lifted his head. Her passion-drugged eyes flickered with embarrassment, and he knew she’d never experienced this before.

“Let me, Catherine,” he pleaded hoarsely, waiting in ardent agony for some sign of permission, receiving it with the simple drifting shut of her eyelids.

Growling a rumble of satisfaction, he lowered his head and loved her good and well, her mounting
pleasure causing his own excitement to build until he thought he would burst when she found her release.

During her float back down to earth, he shucked his boots, jeans and shirt and lunged up to cover her naked flesh with his. In one swift thrust, he buried himself where he’d wanted to be for more weeks than he’d like to admit. “Ah, yeah, this feels good. This feels right.” He sighed. “Now, if I could only say something brainy…”

Catherine opened dazed eyes and smiled. “Put a little muscle into it, Tucker.”

God, he loved this woman! Raising up on his elbows, he gave her a slow, crooked grin. “Whatever you say, Teach.”

C
ATHERINE WAS ROUSED
from the depths of her coma by a tickling sensation on her shoulder. She burrowed her face deeper in her pillow and started to sink back into oblivion. The tickle persisted, trailing like insect legs down her outflung arm.

Her eyes popped open. She scrambled upright and slapped wildly at her arm, searching the rumpled sheets for the vile intruder in her bed and seeing long masculine fingers, instead. Her gaze traveled past wrist, hair-dusted forearm and sculpted marble shoulder to an irresistible grin and teasing dark eyes.

“Mornin’, doll.”

When had the word ceased to be offensive and become a treasured endearment? “Good morning.”

Joe clasped his hands behind his head on the pillow, his grin fading as his gaze lowered. “A damn good one.”

She reached for the sheet and pulled it to her chin, struck by belated shyness. Ridiculous, considering the
intimacies they’d shared throughout the night. Oh, what had she
done?

“You’re analyzing, Catherine. That’s never a good idea the morning after. Things seem too different. You need, time to adjust. We’ll sort this out later when you know exactly how you feel.”

His sensitivity didn’t surprise her, not now that she knew him so well. Knew exactly how much she loved him. The rest was a confused tangle, but that much was clear.

She studied the picture he made against her flowersprigged pillowcase, recording it in her memory to bring out in the lonely days ahead. His dark tousled hair, his beard-shadowed chin and jaw, the swelled biceps framing his face, the sheer manliness that made other men seem less masculine, however unfair that was.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and gruff, his eyes telling her she was desirable and wanted, if only for the moment.

But the moment would pass.

Despite her brave intentions, her smile trembled just a bit. “What happened to letting me sort out how I feel?”

“Maybe I want to refresh your memory.”

They exchanged a long intense look filled with remembered passion, and heaven help her, the sweet melting process began again.

“Come here,” he crooned.

She leaned forward, drawn by the mesmerizing tether of her lover’s eyes.

A sudden noise broke the connection. A noise suspiciously like the front door opening downstairs. She saw her startled shock reflected in Joe’s eyes, then he
was whipping back the covers and pulling on his jeans.

“I didn’t check the lock last night. Anyone have a key to your house?”

“Father. But he isn’t due for three days.”

Joe zipped up, nodded grimly and said, “Stay here.”

Adrenaline shot through her as he moved into the hallway. She thrashed her way out of bed, slipped on her discarded nightgown and searched the room for a weapon. Idiot manly man, did he want to get himself shot? She grabbed the portable phone with the vague intention of calling for help and crept into the hall.

Joe stood frozen at the top of. the stairs, his gaze riveted on something—or someone—below. Oh, God. She started to punch in 911.

“Enjoy your lesson, Tucker, or were you the teacher in this case? Lord knows she could use some tutoring in that area.”

Carl.
Horror paralyzed her poised finger.

Menace emanated from Joe in waves. “I’m gonna let that slide, considering the situation. But watch yourself, buddy. You won’t get a second chance.”

“Just who gave whom a bloody nose, you filthy bastard? Where is she? I want to talk to her.”

“You’ll have to talk later.”

“The hell I will.
Catherine?
”

“Don’t do it, Wilson. Turn around and walk back down those steps. You’re not thinking straight right now.” Although his voice sounded calm, Joe’s fists were clenched, his legs braced for a fight.

Trapped in a living nightmare of her own making, Catherine walked slowly forward. “I’m here, Carl,” she called. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

She ignored Joe’s warning glance and moved up beside him. It took every ounce of Catherine’s courage to meet Carl’s eyes.

They were as cold as liquid nitrogen.

“So tell me, Catherine, was he compatible?”

Shame swept through her from head to toe. No man deserved this from his fiancee, no matter how loveless the bond. She’d agreed to marry him knowing full well his reasons for asking. She’d owed him her respect at the very least.

He set a large bag on the step above him, his smile caustic. “My little romantic surprise backfired, I see. Since I’m too late to help you work up an appetite, darling, I’ll just leave this here. You must be starving.”

She read the name of an exclusive bakery on the bag just as the scent of warm Danish reached her nose. To her utter humiliation, her stomach growled loudly.

He held up a key and placed it beside the bag. “Please return this to your father. I’m afraid I can’t be the protector he wanted any longer. You’ll have to find another fianoé for the job—if you can.” His sweeping look made it insultingly clear what he thought of her chances.

Standing there in her crumpled satin nightgown, knowing her wild hair and abraded skin branded her like a scarlet letter, she made a small sound of distress. Suddenly Joe’s arm curled around her waist and hugged her to his side.

“She’s already found one, buddy—if she’ll have me,” Joe said in a hard tight voice.

Her heart soared. She flung her head back and searched his beloved face. His gaze moved from Carl’s to hers, the competitive glitter in his eyes changing to inscrutable watchfulness.

He doesn’t want this,
she thought, wondering how a shattered heart could continue beating.

His awakened sense of responsibility, his gentlemanly instincts—those were what had prompted his offer. He’d told her often enough that he didn’t want or need a wife. To love him as she did without receiving his love in return would be a thousand times worse than a marriage of convenience.

“I hate to interrupt this touching scene,” Carl said acidly, “but, Catherine, there’s a little matter of my parents and two hundred guests we need to discuss. Shall I come back in, say, an hour?”

Removing Joe’s arm from her waist was the hardest thing Catherine had ever done. “That’s fine, Carl, it will give you time to adjust. When you come back, we’ll sort this out and see how you feel then. Maybe we can salvage something from the mess I’ve made of things.”

J
OE ZIPPED UP
his last bag and hoped he hadn’t forgotten anything. Two mornings ago Catherine had made it clear he had no place in her future. No way was he coming back.

He scanned the apartment one last time, his eyes straining with the effort to memorize details. The bright colors and wall art he’d found so irritating that first day seemed interesting and provocative now. Over the past month his attitude about a lot of things had changed—especially about himself.

He would never be perfect, not by a long shot. But if there was any chance he could influence his future, he was willing to give it a try. He’d much rather make his own decisions and accept the consequences than drift along at the mercy of someone else’s agenda.

According to Norman, Joe’s new confidence and polish really showed on his latest demo tape. Copies of the tape had hit the post office yesterday and, with any luck, would generate some promising interviews. His participation in Catherine’s crazy bet would’ve been time well spent.

If only he hadn’t fallen in love with her.

Juliet slunk out from under the sofa and rubbed against his leg. Joe crouched down into a catcher’s squat and stroked her arching back. The steady ache in his chest intensified.

“So what’s Romeo’s secret, girl? I seem to’ve lost my touch.”

When Catherine had pulled away from him on the stairs and scrambled to get back into Pretty Boy’s good graces, everything in Joe had grown cold. The worst part was knowing she’d been right to do it. As much as he’d wanted to play Prince Charming come to the rescue, the castle and all its riches belonged to Carl. He doubted anything else could’ve kept him from fighting like hell to change her mind.

Snow White deserved her happily-ever-after.

Looked like she’d get it, too, because she’d told him yesterday the engagement was still on—party, bet and all. He could imagine what she must’ve told Carl in private to pull that off. Probably something about sowing her last wild oats, along with assurances that Joe was out of her system now.

Thank God he hadn’t blurted out his feelings during their incredible night together. Catherine was just starved enough for affection to choose his love over Carl’s offer of certain security. He probably wouldVe let her, too, if not for the lessons in responsibility he’d learned at her hands. The irony was laughable.

Sighing, he gave Juliet a final affectionate scratch, saluted Romeo perched on the green patio table and grabbed a suitcase in each hand. He heard Allie pound up the stairs just as he reached the door.

It burst open and she looked beyond Joe to the two cats.

“No,” he said before she could open her mouth. “And you better not’ve asked Catherine if you could take them home with you. You didn’t, did you?”

“I said I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. But Jo-oe,
look
at them.”

He cast a reluctant glance over his shoulder at the two felines staring at him as if their last fish stick on earth was walking out the door.

“They’ll be all alone for at least a month until a fall-semester student rents the apartment. I don’t want them for keeps, I just want to…borrow them,” Allie’s chin jutted forward, the obstinate angle hardening his resolve.

He stepped out into the morning sunlight. “Check to see that you haven’t left anything behind, then shut the door good. I’ll meet you at the Bronco.”

Damn, he thought, descending the stairs with the image of Allie’s mutinous expression for company. As if it wasn’t hard enough leaving without her badgering him about the cats.

He opened the rear of the truck and slid the two suitcases into the spot he’d cleared for them. Amazing how much more stuff they were taking home than they’d originally brought.

The apartment door opened and closed. Allie’s heavy stomps on the cedar stairs alerted him to the fact that her mood hadn’t improved. .

Well, neither had his.

He slammed the tailgate shut and turned to face his daughter. “Ready?”

“Why
can’t
we take them, Joe? I’ll clean the cat box, I promise, and you know they don’t eat much. Just let me ask Catherine—”

“Listen to me, Allie. Those cats don’t belong to. you. And no matter how much you love them, Catherine loves them more. Do you think she’s gonna let her babies get hungry or lonely? Not a chance. So quit nagging me and let’s get this show on the road.”

“But here she comes. It won’t hurt to ask her.”

He began to wonder if those straight
A
‘s on her report cards had been forged. “Cats get upset when they’re moved. Do you really want to tear them away from their home and take them to a strange place just so
you’ll
be happy? Sounds pretty selfish to me.”

“What’s this I’m hearing?” Catherine asked from behind Joe, sending a bittersweet spike through his heart. “Allie, why didn’t you tell me you wanted to take Romeo and Juliet home with you?” She moved forward and draped her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“Joe told me not to ask you. He says I’m nagging him.”

Ignoring his daughter’s fmgeraail-on-a-blackboard whine, Joe transferred his irritation to Catherine. If she’d said yes to his marriage proposal, this wouldn’t be an issue. Allie would have the pets she’d always wanted and the mother he’d only recently learned she’d “give anything” to have. And what would he have?

“If your father didn’t want you to ask me, he must have had a good reason,” Catherine said firmly.

I’d have a lover who’s also my best friend.

Allie made a face. “He’s just in a bad mood. He’s been grumpy ever since I got back from Galveston. Please, Catherine? Could I take them with me for a few weeks?”

Joe had been on the receiving end of those pleading spaniel eyes enough times to know how tough they were to resist.

Catherine removed her arm from the girl and stepped back. “It’s up to your father.”

Quickly masking a spark of triumph, Allie dragged her soulful gaze to Joe. “C’mon, Joe, it’ll be fun.”

The magic phrase, the one he’d used for years to wheedle cooperation from her. His temper snapped. “I’ve had about all the manipulation I’m going to take from you, Allie. When I tell you no, it doesn’t mean maybe, or ask me twenty more times, it means respect my judgment and keep your complaints to yourself. Is that understood, young lady?”

Her eyes grew huge. “But Joe—”

”
Is that understood?
”

As father and daughter stared at each other a long measuring moment, there was a subtle shift in the balance of power between them.

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good. Now tell Catherine goodbye again and hop in the Bronco.”

Allie moved into Catherine’s open arms and hugged her fiercely. “You’ll help me shop for school clothes like you promised? You won’t forget?”

Catherine’s lids squeezed shut briefly. “Of course I won’t forget. We’re talking shopping here.”

Allie pulled back and grinned. “Thanks, Catherine. Guess I’ll see ya soon, then.” She jogged to the passenger side, climbed in and slammed the door.

Fumbling for his jeans pockets, Joe shoved his hands deep to keep them from doing something stupid. The goodbyes in his life had always been filled with guilt. This vise squeezing his ribs, this knowl-. edge that walking away would rip out his heart and leave him hollow and bleeding…well, if this is what Vicky and Allie had endured, he was surprised they hadn’t hated him.

He looked down and toed a crack in the driveway. “So I’ll show up Saturday night at about eight-thirty,
right? I’ve gotta admit I’m kind of nervous.” Kind of? Ha!

“You’ll do great. I’m very proud of you.”

His head came up. Moisture glinted in her eyes like dew on spring grass. He waited until he could trust himself to speak.

“Don’t jump the gun. I haven’t convinced your father yet.”

“I’m not talking about your party manners, for heaven’s sake. Don’t you realize what happened a minute ago?”

He stared at her blankly.

“Allie called you Dad. How long has it been since she last called you that?”

Lord have mercy.
“Not since she was about six.”

“Welcome to fatherhood, Joe. It might not be as much fun as never-never land, but with Allie for a daughter, the magic will never end.”

C
ATHERINE SLIPPED
into the Wilsons’ downstairs guest bathroom, locked the door and set her beaded bag by the Italian marble basin. She’d orchestrated the evening with unnatural calm, but now that it was time to conduct, she was a bundle of nerves. So much could go wrong.

Turning the cut-crystal faucet, she held her wrists beneath a stream of cold water and prayed for courage; She’d agreed to masquerade as Carl’s adoring bride-to-be, thus saving his parents the social embarrassment of their lifetime, on two conditions.

First, he must not under any circumstances reveal that either the bet or their engagement was off. Second, he must facilitate the surprise she had planned for her father.

She’d confessed everything regarding her flawed pedigree, including the vaulted Dr. Hamilton’s lowly character. Shocked and subdued, Carl had readily consented to her terms. Especially after she’d threatened to stage her surprise in front of their guests should he not cooperate.

She switched off the water, patted her hands dry and vowed to give Joe his chance to mingle as Sebastian Doherty, intellectual and social equal to society’s darlings. Maybe after tonight her student could be comfortable with the real Joe Tucker—the man somewhere between dumb jock and aristocratic snob. The man she loved.

Catherine met her own stricken eyes in the mirror and shook her head.

No, she wouldn’t think about that now. Not when she needed to be strong for the upcoming confrontation with her father. Her stony aloofness since she’d picked him up from the airport yesterday had prompted more attention than he’d shown her in years. But she’d purposely kept up the silent treatment. If all went according to plan, he wouldn’t dare interfere in her life again after tonight.

Fumbling in her bag, she withdrew a gold tube and freshened her lipstick, drawing confidence from knowing she looked damn good. The bright red cocktail dress she’d seen on her shopping trip with Joe actually looked better on her than it had on the storewindow mannequin.

High-necked, cap-sleeved and form-fitting to three inches above the knee, it whispered expensive and classy—from the front. She turned slightly and eyed the expanse of white skin narrowing to a point below
her waistline. A rhinestone bow perched on the dip just before her buttocks swelled.

From the back this dress said, “Follow me, big boy,” and earned every penny of its outrageous price tag.

Okay, Catherine, you’ve stalled long enough. Time to put up or shut up.

Squaring her shoulders, she left the sanctuary of the bathroom and headed for the formal living room, amazed at the number of guests who’d arrived during her short absence. Lilting music from a string quartet softened the geeselike chatter of humans. She immediately spotted her father among the flock.

Tall and white-haired, with sharp angular features and the bearing of an eagle among lesser fowl, Lawrence Hamilton stood next to Carl, pontificating about something or other. Two distinguished-looking couples in their fifties completed her father’s enthralled audience. Catherine accepted a glass of chardonnay from a passing waiter and headed for the performance.

“Consider a recent study conducted at Stanford Business School to determine the best predictors of success in business,” her father was saying. “The scholastic records of graduates were compared with their positions in the business world ten years later. The only consistent variable that could predict success was verbal fluency.”

As Carl made room for her in the semicircle, the others smiled a quick greeting.

“So you’re saying that most successful men are good communicators?” Dusty Black asked, throwing his wife, Dawn, a smug look.

“That’s right. They’re able to sell themselves, their services and their companies—all critical skills for running a corporation. The designers, researchers and programmers of the world will never get paid as much as the Lee Iacoccas…”

Catherine tuned out her father’s voice, refusing to listen to such a narrow-minded view of success. How many CEOs were happy with themselves and their lives? How many of them had a positive impact on the people around them?

She sipped her wine and glanced toward the foyer for the third time in as many minutes. Charlotte and Jeffrey Wilson opened the door to more arriving guests, none of them familiar to her. She and Carl had been excused from front-door duty in honor of her father’s brief visit. He was heading for an airport hotel after the party and would fly back to England tomorrow.

Lowering her glass, she winced as her fingers slipped on the condensation. Wine sloshed over the rim and hit her father’s polished dress shoes.

He stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked down his long Hamilton nose at the offending liquid. “And then there’s the
nonverbal
form of communication.” His gaze slowly lifted. “If I’m boring you, Catherine, surely you could find a less dramatic way to tell me?”

His charming smile swept his audience and prompted chuckles, but not before Catherine had seen the unguarded flash of displeasure in his hazel eyes. A month ago it would have devastated her.

She patted his arm and offered the group her own falsely bright smile. “Father
loves
high drama. He’s
too modest to admit it, but he was an excellent actor in his younger days.”

“Really, Lawrence?” Dawn’s dark eyes lit with speculative interest. “You know our Hospice House fund-raising ball is staging a melodrama prior to the dancing. We could certainly use a volunteer with experience.”

“I’m afraid my daughter is mistaken.” He glanced warily at Catherine. “I don’t know where she got the idea I was in the theater.”

“Who said anything about the theater? I said you could act.” Catherine turned to the attractive older woman and forced a teasing note into her voice. “According to an old friend of the family, Father wasn’t
always
the proper professor. It seems he could talk a courtroom judge into believing anything.”