One Tough Cookie (14 page)

"I'm sure." She took his hand.

They passed the Plaza de Espana and were at the entrance to the bullring when Willy heard someone calling.

"Hey, wild Willy. What are you doing here?" It was Elena.

"Hi, Elena." Surprised and pleased to see her friend, Willy smiled. "We're just doing a little sightseeing. You remember Dan's brother."

Elena nodded almost shyly. "
Hola
, Taylor."

"You look wonderful," he said.

"In this old thing," Elena joked. She was wearing a traditional Spanish dress of vivid red with a black lace mantilla. She looked magnificent.

"I forgot you were shooting here," Willy said. "How's it going?"

"It's good. An easy shoot, except for the fact it's been so damn hot. A nice breeze from the Mediterranean would feel real good about now, but we'll be finished soon." She fanned herself. "Hey, why don't you come and watch for a while? We're going into the bullring to do some stills. You can sit there on the sidelines, see what you're missing," she teased.

Willow smiled at her reference to the job. "I know what I'm
not
missing, but we'll watch for a bit. We were heading for the bullring anyway. Taylor?" She glanced up at him.

"Sounds like fun." He turned to Elena. "Will you join us for dinner later?"

"I'd love to but I can't. There's a birthday party for one of the crew tonight. I promised I'd be there. Another time maybe?" Elena tilted her head and looked at him. Because of her height, she met him almost eye to eye.

"Anytime," he said. "I'll look forward to it."

"Elena. Let's do it." A man's voice called from across the street.

"Coming," she answered, giving a quick wave. "Gotta go," She took a step, turned and asked Willy, "Is Dan back yet?"

"Thursday is his latest target. Will we see you?"

"Yes, I think you will. Hold him there for me, will you? Sit on him, if you have to. I might be late."

Willow nodded. When Elena was gone, she shook her head half in wonderment, half in consternation.

"Is it a deep, dark secret or can you let me in on what's going on between my brother and that incredible-looking woman?"

"Nothing if he has his way about it."

"You're kidding. Dan might be a flake but no way is he stupid."

"Dan is not a flake!"

"Right. Just for a moment there I forgot he was wandering around Spain unemployed and without a
peseta
toward next month's rent."

"You really are insufferable at times. You know that?"

He nodded at her approvingly. "Good word. Imparts a little more class than 'self-satisfied ass.'"

She shook her head, crushed a grin, and kept walking.

"So... he doesn't care for Elena? That's what you're telling me," he went on.

"He's crazy about her."

They were almost to the center of the bullring. Taylor frowned. "What am I missing here?"

"It's none of my business, but..." She paused. "He thinks she's too tall,"

"Too tall?" Taylor echoed. "You're kidding. She's beautiful, charming, sexy, sweet, and—"

"Too tall." Willy cut him off, a little bit of Elena praise went far enough. "He thinks they look funny together, unbalanced. Lousy composition, he says."

Taylor shook his head. "I don't buy it. Doesn't sound like Dan. A woman like that and he's going to let her go because of a couple of inches."

"Five."

"Two, five, ten. I still don't buy it. He's running. I suspect it's more his aversion to commitment causing the problem than anything else. Certainly not height. I take it Elena doesn't have the same hang-up."

"She thinks he's nuts. And so do I. That's why she's coming to Puerto Banus next week. To give it—him— another go. You won't say anything to Dan, will you? I mean it's their business, after all." She glanced at Taylor, remembering what Dan called him.
The controller.

Taylor raised both hands. "Not a word. But for your information, my money's on Elena."

"Mine, too," she said. Looking over the dusty surface of the bullring, she watched as the exotic woman flicked open a black fan and moved toward the camera.

"Let's get out of here," Taylor whispered in her ear. "It's getting dark, and I've had enough sightseeing for today. And I want you so bad I'm in knots. This has been the longest day of my life."

Willow couldn't hide her surprise. "I thought you were enjoying yourself." He'd been a model escort and intrepid tourist all day and so damned cool, she'd almost started to believe last night had been a dream.

"I was giving you a rest. If we'd stayed in today, I'd have worn you out or died trying." He ran his knuckles down her cheek. "But I've reached my limit. I want you, Willy Desmond. I want you
bad
. So can we go home now—please? You're looking at a desperate man here." The last word was poured into her ear along with warm breath and a gentle bite on her earlobe.

* * *

It was after eight when they got back to the condo.

"I'm going to call my mother. I'll be right back," Willy said as she turned from Taylor at the door and headed for Rosa's place. Maybe she wanted space, time—she had no idea, but she knew the second she was behind that door with Taylor, she wouldn't have either.
But you'll have him, you idiot.

He glanced at his watch. "It's after two a.m. in New York."

"If I know my mother, she'll just be getting home. I won't be long."

A half hour went by before Willy came back to the apartment. Taylor watched as she sat heavily on the ancient sofa and threw her head back. Agitated. Definitely agitated.

"I can't believe it," she muttered.

He arched a brow, handed her a glass of cool white wine. . "So the thrilling news wasn't so thrilling."

She took the wine absently, and he took the seat across from her.

When she said nothing, he said, "What is it? What's going on?"

"My mother—" She took a sip of the wine and raised her eyes to his. "—is coming to Spain. For a…honeymoon. She got married. Yesterday. His name is Milton, uh, Barska... Barski. Something like that. I was so stunned it scarcely registered."

"Barsco? Milton Barsco?" Taylor asked.

"That's it. You know him?"

"Of him. So do you probably. The Pierre hotel chain? That's his. Along with two small airlines, a cable company, and a brewery in Oregon."

"How do you know all that?"

"It's my business to know. I deal in investments, remember." He drank some wine and watched her face. "I take it you're not happy about the marriage,"

"Numb, more like it. Six weeks. God, I can't understand it. Six short weeks."

"You lost me."

"That's how long they've known each other. And they get married? Married!" She sank deeper into the sofa.

"I'm sure they knew what they were doing¸ Willow."

His efforts to soothe met snapping eyes. "You know nothing about it."

He shrugged off her peevish tone. "And you do, of course."

"I know it'll be a disaster."

"Marrying one of the richest, most respected men in New York can hardly be called a disaster."

"You think that's why she did it, don't you? For the money!" She was working up a full head of steam.

Taylor raised a hand. "I didn't say that and you know it."

"You implied it. Well, let me tell you, Monroe, divorce hurts whether you're rich or poor. Money doesn't make pain go away."

"Who said anything about divorce? They just got married, for God's sake, and you've got them in the divorce courts already. You're being ridiculous and you damn well know it. Maybe you should try being happy for your mother. She's been alone a long time."

She didn't like what he said, but she couldn't totally discount it either. She got up from the sofa and went to stand by the window. "You're right. I suppose, but I—"

He came up behind her. He stroked her hair, then wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her back to him. "You what?"

"I'm scared for her. I told you about the women in our family. They're no damn good at the loving game. They're too needy. Don't you see? If my mother did marry because she's lonely, because her emotions got the better of her, it's doomed to fail. She'll give him all of herself, and when it's over, she'll have nothing to fall back on."

"You talking about your mom, or your own fears?"

She didn't answer. Couldn't. And she
was
afraid for her beautiful mother. Very afraid.

"Why borrow trouble from tomorrow?" he went on. "Your mother is in love, and from what I know of Barsco, to an all round good guy. She's happy, and she called to share that with you. Be happy for her." He shoved her hair aside and kissed the base of her neck. Willy tilted her head and lifted her shoulder, warming under his touch.

"Taylor…" She stopped, feeling tentative. Then she took a breath.
Just ask the damn question. You want to know, you ask.

"Uh-huh." He was busy with her bare and accessible shoulder.

"Have you ever been in love before?"

He stopped what he was doing, but only briefly. "Before now, you mean?"

She turned in his arms. "Be serious."

"How do you know I'm not?"

"Because you're trying to seduce me, and men say things when they want a woman."

"Do they now?" His lips curved.

"They do, and you can't believe a word of it."

"You can't?"

"No, you can't. Men get very sneaky and deceptive when their, uh, sap is rising."

Taylor laughed. "So that's what causes my heart to pound, my breath to shorten, and my knees to weaken when I hold you. 'Sap.' Who'd have thought."

"Smart ass." She smiled, though. Had to. "You didn't answer my question."

He took her face between his hands and looked at her. "No, Willow. I've never been in love... before. Now at the risk of being called sneaky and deceptive, will you please come to bed with me? My sap, it seems, has risen."

Chapter 8

Willow didn't answer right away. Instead she snuggled into Taylor's embrace. In a few days he'd board a plane for the States, but for now he was hers. She'd make the most of it.

Last night, after leaving him at the restaurant, she'd walked and thought for a long time. Her decision to make love with him was a conscious one. She hadn't
fallen
into his arms, raw with trust and need. No. She'd gone willingly, eyes open, emotions intact. She would leave him—when the time came—with the same self-control.

This interlude with him was perfect. A tiny shred of time to come together and a lifetime to be apart. She swallowed. Perfect.

The main thing was she wouldn't love him, could never love him. He was wrong for her. Too arrogant, too sure of himself, and too damned traditional, a man who liked to take charge. She shuddered at the mere notion of that. No. Not her type at all. Maybe he did set her on fire, but that proved nothing; other than he was an experienced, tender lover. Something she'd denied herself far too long.

When she thought about last night...

She snuggled closer and his arms tightened around her. Last night was... indescribable. She let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Is that a yes to my fervent plea you join me in bed, or were you thinking about something else?" He kissed her below the ear and stood back to look at her.

"I was thinking about ... anticipation."

"Sounds interesting."

"Might even be the best part? Don't you think?"

"Hm-m." He muttered noncommittally and went back to the warm spot under her ear.

She had an idea. "Let's take a bath together," she said in a rush. "I've always wanted to do that." She pulled her head back to give him an eager grin, pleased with her plan.

"One of your better ideas, but I'm not sure that old tub in there is big enough for both of us. We're not exactly what you call 'little people.'"

"It's big enough. C'mon. It'll be fun. And I want to talk. No, that's not true. I want to listen. I want to wash your back and hear your life story." She gave him a sideways smiles. "Then we'll go to bed.
If
I like what I hear, of course. I want to know everything. All about your family. Growing up. Your business—everything. The whole nine yards."

Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Would you settle for an abridged version in the shower?"

She glared at him. "Nice try."

He tumbled her hair. "Run the tub. I'm going out for a minute."

When she started to ask where he was going, he put a finger to her lips. "I'll be right back."

* * *

She was turning off the water when he got back. The bathroom was bright and moist with steam. He held up a bottle of champagne and two fluted glasses. "I return triumphant."

"Where did you get the glasses? I thought most of the shops were closed. You didn't walk to the port, did you?"

"Not necessary. Just a side trip from the market to a local restaurant." He set the glasses on the sink and lifted his head to sniff the air. "What's that?"

"Musk." She pointed at the tub. "The equal opportunity scent."

"I don't know," he said. "I'm not sure it's
me.
I hope you're not planning on fluffy pink bathrobes."