Her Passionate Plan B (8 page)

Her gaze moved to another picture on the same page, this one of a skinny, barefoot boy in baggy overalls pulling another boy in a wagon. The one in the wagon was hanging on to the sides and both boys were laughing. Recognizing the passenger by the distinctive curve of his back, she could have wept.

But it was the other child that Kell pointed to, the one pulling the wagon. “What do you bet that's my dad?” he said softly. The two boys looked nothing alike, but then, it wasn't a particularly good picture.

Without thinking, Daisy squeezed his shoulder before moving back to the desk across the room. Too many shared emotions could be hazardous to a woman's health, she reminded herself as she busied herself sorting through loose rubber bands, a roll of old stamps, more paper clips, dozens of pencils and assorted ball-point pens, some with caps, most without. She set aside the stamps and tossed the rest.

The next drawer held only a box of personalized stationery. No point in saving that, either, she told herself, adding it to the growing pile in the discard box. She was about to close the drawer when something at the very
back caught her attention—a square white envelope. It was not addressed; there was no return address, but there was a twenty-three-cent stamp in the upper-right-hand corner.

Twenty-three cents? Mercy, how long ago had that been? Curious, she turned the envelope over. The flap was stuck, and after only a moment's hesitation she slid her finger underneath and pried it open.

“Oh, no,” she whispered as she stared at the heart-shaped Valentine. Handwritten across the pastel face of the card were the words “Roses are red, violets are blue, someone you know is in love with you.”

It was signed “Yours truly, Harvey Snow.”

Not until Kell touched her on the shoulder was she aware of having read the words aloud. She had no idea there were tears on her cheeks until he brushed them away with his thumb.

One touch was all it took. When the floodgates opened, she turned to him, pressing her face against his waist. He stood beside her chair, patting her shoulder and cupping the back of her head in his hand. “This is so embarrassing,” she burbled. “I never cry, honestly.”

She had broken down twice in just the short time he'd been there.

“Shh, I know that.” He lifted her from the chair by her arms and led her to the sofa. Even after she was able to stem the flow of tears, a matter of a few minutes, she made no move to pull away.

Nor did he make any move to release her. Instead, he leaned back, his arm around her, her face still hidden in the hollow of his shoulder. “Daisy?” he murmured after a while.

She sniffed. “I'm all right now.” And she was, truly she was. Any minute now she would pull herself together, get up and apologize for soaking his shirt. Any minute now.

“Daisy, look at me.”

“If you don't mind, I'd rather not.” She knew very well what she must look like. Was there a woman on earth who looked seductive in scrubs? Add to that bloodshot eyes and a red nose and she might as well throw herself on the discard pile.

Leaning back against the arm of the sofa, he drew her across his chest while his hands moved slowly over her back. He was making those soft rumbling noises again—sounds that were probably meant to be comforting. She could have told him that was hardly the effect they were having.

Sniffing, she drew in a shuddering breath, suddenly aware that she was draped over his torso like a tartan, with one arm flung over his shoulder. What's more, she was far too comfortable to move away.

“Better now?” he murmured, his voice more a vibration than a sound.

“A Valentine.” For whom? Why had it never been mailed? “It's just so sad,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. His thumb moved slowly over the back of her neck. If he was trying to ease her tension again, he was going about it the wrong way. A bucket of cold water might have been more effective.

She sniffed again, inhaling the clean, outdoorsy scent she had come to identify with the man. If the stuff could be bottled and sold, someone would make a fortune.

“I wonder who she was,” Kell said softly.

Daisy shook her head. “Poor Harvey.” Reluctantly, she steeled herself to get up. She even went so far as to slide her arm from around his neck. That's when she caught sight of his face. Where a moment ago his eyes had been blue, they were now black except for a thin, incandescent rim of color.

When he murmured, “Daisy, I'm going to have to kiss you,” she didn't even try to fight it. Some things were simply inevitable.

Long moments later, having been kissed until she was roughly the consistency of Silly Putty, she told herself that the trouble with scrubs was that they didn't button down the front.

The good thing about them was that they fit loosely enough to accommodate a pair of skilled, exploring hands.

When Kell found her hardened nipples they both groaned. Cupping her breasts in his hands, he proceeded to drive her crazy, using his teeth and his tongue, until she was ready to rip off every shred of clothing—his and hers—and do whatever it took to ease the throbbing demands of her body.

I am
not
a sensual woman, she reminded herself desperately.

The trouble was, she had proof to the contrary.

“Bedroom?” he said urgently, his breath steamy on her bare flesh.

She shook her head, then, realizing that he could hardly see her when his face was pressed against her stomach, she said, “Here…now. Please?” If she had to move she might come to her senses, and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

His hand moved between them and, as if by magic,
the tie at her waist came undone. She heard the sound of a zipper just as she felt the cool air on overheated parts of her body. Feeling the dampness between her thighs, she couldn't help but remember the tube of lubricant she'd bought a few weeks after she'd started seeing Jerry. He'd wanted to see if they were suited. At the time she'd thought they were, but evidently he hadn't agreed.

Why was this
happening?
Why did it feel so
right?
Kell's hands were sheer magic. When he replaced his hands with his mouth, she uttered a cascade of whimpering sounds that would have embarrassed her had she even been aware of them. Again and again he brought her to the precipice, only to pull her back before she could fly away.

They were both breathing in jerky gasps when she gasped, “Hurry, hurry…”

At the same time he said, “Are you…?”

“Yes!” she practically shouted.

“On the pill?”

Her head fell back on the padded arm of the sofa. “No, but don't you have…?”

He was nestled between her thighs, hot and hard and ready. With a groan, he whispered, “Back home—bedside table. I'm not carrying.”

So disappointed she could have screamed, she squeezed her thighs together, managing to trap a part of him she would have much rather trap somewhere else. “Well, that's really stupid.”

“Yeah,” he said, making no move to release his trapped “part.” He moved his hips slowly, his eyes
closed, his teeth clenched. Reaching between them, he whispered hoarsely, “Let me do this for you.”

She shook her head, so disappointed she could have wept all over again. “Just let me up…please?”

With the utmost gentleness, he pulled away and smoothed her top down over her naked breasts. His jeans were around his knees. By all rights he should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked remorseful, frustrated, and so damned desirable she was tempted to pull him back down to finish what they'd started, protection or no protection.

But if he could be sensible at a time like this, she thought despairingly, then so could she. Forcing herself to sit up, she straightened her clothes while he stood and began pulling up his jeans. He wore navy briefs.
Brief
briefs. And he was definitely packing heat!

D
aisy waited as long as possible the next morning before going in search of caffeine. The first thing that caught her eye was the note on the table, anchored with the salt shaker. Knowing sleep would be elusive, she had taken a book to bed. An hour later, unable to remember a word of what she'd read, she'd given up and turned off the light.

Sometime later she had opened her eyes to darkness. The luminous dial on her alarm clock read eighteen past four. She'd listened for whatever sound had aroused her, her heart going triple time. Then she'd heard it again, this time from the kitchen.

A burglar? Hardly. The crime rate in Muddy Landing was minus zilch. There were only two deputies assigned to the area, and both of them spent most of their time reading comic books. Faylene occasionally arrived early, but never
this
early. It had to be Kell.

Dammit, it would serve him right if he'd had as much trouble getting to sleep as she had. What was that old saying about letting sleeping dogs lie? She'd thought all that craziness was behind her. As a nurse she had seen too many tragic results of having one's brain overruled by one's libido—everything from broken marriages to unwanted pregnancies to assault and battery, heartbreak being among the least of them.

Which was why Egbert was so perfect, she reminded herself now. She had no doubt that they'd be compatible in the bedroom. At their ages, sex once or twice a week should suffice, leaving them to focus their energies on their respective careers. She liked being a home-care nurse. It was a portable profession. She happened to know Egbert intended to move up in banking circles, which would certainly mean relocating. When—not if, but
when
—he moved to a larger area, she could easily relocate with him. At least that was the way she had pictured their joint futures before she'd met Kell.

Now all she could think of was what it would be like to be married to a man who could melt her bones by simply staring at her mouth. Or by touching her hair. Or by simply talking about anything at all in that grave drawl of his. As a nurse, she knew that sound waves were no more than vibrations in the air. Certain vibrations could touch off landslides, but she'd never dreamed how they could affect a woman's body.

She must have dozed off again, because when the alarm clock went off, she knocked it over trying to shut off the intrusive sound. She'd been dreaming the kind of dream that left her hot and damp and restless.

Trying to recapture the dream, she heard the clink of
dishes in the sink. A few moments later when she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing, she was torn between relief and disappointment. After last night's farcical seduction scene—and for the life of her, she couldn't have said who had tried to seduce whom—the last thing she needed was to have to face him across the breakfast table.

Part of the trouble was that she liked the man. Honestly, genuinely liked him. They could have been best friends if only something about him didn't set off fireworks whenever she looked at him—or even thought about him.

For one thing, he appreciated Harvey's home even though, as it had been willed to the historical society, he wasn't in line to inherit. That spoke volumes about his character—or maybe about his common sense. It might be charming, even romantic, but the place was a ruin. The slate roof alone would cost a fortune to repair; the half basement flooded whenever it rained; and she was pretty sure termites had already invaded the floor joists. Which meant that sooner or later the whole thing might collapse unless someone poured a fortune into restoring it.

Watching the sky gradually brighten in the east, Daisy lay there wondering how, after mapping out a safe, sane future for herself, she'd managed to get herself involved with termites and sad Valentines and sexy men.

 

Striding back to the school parking lot, Kell pumped a fist in the air. If he'd just hit the grand slam that had won the World Series he couldn't have felt any better.
Screw you, Blalock, who needs you? I've found what I came for!

It had taken all day, but it had been worth it. First the courthouse records had been a mess, having been stacked up out of the tide's reach back in September. The clerk who'd been there for years had recently retired and her replacement was evidently in the throes of on-the-job training without a trainer. Following an interesting but largely unrewarding morning, he'd headed for the local high school, and that's where he'd struck gold. The school librarian was still arranging books that had also been stored for protection against the storm. Old annuals were the least of her worries, but she'd come through for him.

He had slipped out before Daisy was up this morning, uncertain of how to deal with what had happened between them last night. Actually, nothing had happened—the game had been called in the early innings because he'd forgotten the first entry in any bachelor's rule book.

Which might have been a blessing in disguise, because he had a feeling Daisy was no gamer. He couldn't afford to set up any expectations as he'd be leaving in a few more days.

Her car was still in the driveway, but the boxes were no longer stacked on the back seat. That meant she'd been busy today, too. Eager to share the good news, he braced himself for what might be an awkward moment. But awkward or not, he had a feeling Daisy would appreciate it more than anyone else. Definitely more than Blalock would, although he looked forward to telling the smug bastard.

“Daisy?” he called as he opened the door. “Are you home?”

“I'm in the kitchen. Wipe your feet, Faylene waxed the front hall this morning.”

He wiped his boots on the faded old crocheted rug she had put there for that purpose and headed for the kitchen, caution fighting with elation. “Chicken again? It sure smells good.” So much for not setting up expectations. He could easily get hooked on her cooking alone, never mind that she was one of the sexiest women he'd ever met. Her brand of sexiness was all the more effective for being subtle.

Unable to repress a grin, he slapped a thin stack of papers down on the table and pulled out a chair. Aware of a subliminal sense of well-being, he thought, it doesn't get much better than this. The thought made him oddly uneasy, but he brushed the feeling aside.

“I've been trying to use up everything in the freezer before they cut the power off,” Daisy explained without looking around. “It was mostly bread, chicken and fish. I tossed the fish. No telling how long it's been in there.” She spared him a quick smile that didn't involve her eyes.

He nodded. Speaking of chicken, she looked finger-licking good. He didn't figure she'd appreciate the compliment.

“You look like you struck pay dirt,” she said, not sounding particularly interested.

“Are you using a long-handled fork?”

She held up a cooking fork for his approval. “What did you find out?”

Gloating over his success, Kell tried not to stare at the lines of her bra under her thin yellow T-shirt. Why couldn't she wear a sweatshirt like the other one—Fay
lene? Or another suit of those baggy pajamas she called scrubs.

He thumped the stack of papers before him. “Photocopies. God bless technology.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Daisy lifted her eyebrows. Only a shade or two darker than her hair, they made her look innocent, mysterious and seductive all at once—although damned if he could figure out how. Most women relied on cosmetics to turn up the heat.

She said, “Open that grease can for me, will you? Photocopies of what?”

Only too glad of the distraction, Kell leaped to obey. She still wore a bandage on her right forearm, but at least she hadn't added any more burns. Holding a lid on the pan, she drained it, then lowered the heat and set it back on the burner, all without looking directly at him. Kell had a feeling it wouldn't take much to send her running for cover.

“So tell me,” she said finally after adjusting the heat and the lid to her satisfaction. “You found something good, right? Does Egbert know?”

Steering his mind back on course, he said, “Not yet. I never set out to prove anything to him, just to myself.” While it wasn't quite true, at this point it was irrelevant. “You ready to look at what I found?”

She moved, almost reluctantly, it seemed, closer to the table, still holding the fork. No wonder she was spooked. What had happened the night before had started when they'd shared a few photographs in an old album. Not that those had proved anything conclusively, as there were no captions. The kid pulling the wagon could've been anyone, but Kell knew in his bones that it was a young Evander giving his kid brother a ride.

As for the Valentine…

Ah, jeez. Harvey, I'm sorry, old man.

“Okay, here we go. Exhibit one,” he said, cheering immediately when he produced the copy of a page from the R. L. Snowden High School album, class of '69. “Class pictures, eleventh grade. Check it out.”

Laying the fork aside, Daisy braced her forearms on the table and leaned over to study the faces, some grave, others smiling. Kell leaned over her shoulder, trying not to be distracted by her warmth, her scent. Dressed in full body armor, she would still be risky business.

“What did I tell you?” he gloated. After all these years of wondering—well, maybe not years; he hadn't started on this quest until a few months ago—he felt like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken and then opened too quickly.

Forcing his feelings back under control, he pointed to the top row, then read aloud the fine print beneath a picture of a boy with unruly hair and a shallow cleft in his chin. “Evander Lee Magee. Childhood Delight—Barney Google.” He cocked his head at an angle to look up at her face. “What the hell is a Barney Google?”

Daisy laughed softly and shook her head. “Who knows?” So he went on to read the small print. “Radio club, photo club, archery. Notice the chin? Add a few pounds and a few years—well, maybe a lot of years—and that's my dad. Color would help, but even in black and white you can almost tell he had red hair and freckles.”

“You can? I mean, he did?”

“Sure did. Only thing I inherited from him was maybe the color of his eyes and that split on his chin.” Kell fingered the shallow cleft in his bristly chin, re
minding himself that he was overdue for a shave. It wasn't a fashion statement; he was simply a twice-a-day shaver. “Hey, you know what else? You see these check marks?” He shuffled through several pages and pointed to two other student pictures. “I found both these guys listed in the Elizabeth City phone book.” He leaned over her to point out the surviving classmates, and her behind brushed against his groin, setting off a chain reaction. Catching his breath, he inhaled the faint, familiar scent of roses and bacon grease. “You flavored your canoodle oil again, didn't you?” he teased.

When she glanced up, her face almost collided with his. Desire hit his bloodstream like a shot of tequila. Her lips parted in surprise as her eyes widened warily.

“Daisy,” he rumbled softly.

“No. Oh, no.” But she didn't move away fast enough, and then, somehow she was in his arms.

He said, “I was hoping I'd just imagined it.”

Daisy shook her head. She hadn't imagined anything. But before she could reply, much less pull away, he was kissing her. Softly at first, a mere brushing of warm, moist lips that dragged slightly against her own—back and forth, back and forth, tugging her lips apart. The softness quickly escalated into something far more intense, more invasive. The rasp of his beard brought a rush of goose bumps that spread like wildfire down her flanks.

How could his taste be so familiar when she'd known him so briefly? She was reminded for no reason of warm summer evenings, of fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle and fireflies…. When his hands stroked down her back to cup her against his groin, warning bells went off
in her mind.
Break away now, while you still can. Else you'll never be able to settle for less.

This time she didn't even bother to tell herself that Egbert wouldn't necessarily be less.

“Daisy, I stopped off at the drug store. I bought—”

“So did I,” she whispered, trying not to feel embarrassed. She'd always prided herself on being sensible, and a sensible woman prepared for the unexpected.

The unexpected?

Hardly. She hadn't been able to focus her mind on a single task after what had happened last night—the way she had come apart in his arms. He could hold seminars on the fine art of kissing alone, she thought, as parts of her body that had lain dormant for too long once again came to life.

She twisted her face away from his, her voice uneven as she murmured, “This isn't very smart.”

Panting as if he'd just finished a ten-mile run, he said, “Why not?”

Daisy hung on to his upper arms until the room stopped spinning and then she reached for a chair back for support. Aware of her burning cheeks and the urgency that grew steadily in spite of the fact that he was no longer touching her, she said, “Because—because I need to finish what I was doing.”

As pathetic as it was, it was the only excuse she could think of at the moment. She wasn't about to tell him how long it had been since she'd even kissed a man before last night, much less how long since she'd had sex. Or even
wanted
to have sex.

“Believe it or not, Daisy, I didn't plan it this way.” His voice was sincere, but his pupils were dilated, his
breathing uneven. A quick glance revealed that that wasn't the only evidence of his arousal.

Of course you didn't,
she thought, amused in spite of herself.
Neither did I. That's why we both stocked up on condoms.

Swallowing hard, Kell glanced down at the pages scattered across the table. “I guess I just got carried away, finding all those pictures of my dad. It was better than winning the lottery. You feel like celebrating at a time like that, you know what I mean?”