Hot Touch (13 page)

There was nothing accusing or ugly about his question. It was said with a hint of desperation.

Caroline swallowed until the lump in her throat was only a dull pain. “I do want just one man,” she finally managed to say.

The look in his eyes seared her with its quiet intensity. “But the other night you said …”

“I do want just one man, okay? I told a fib. Us bad women do that sort of thing.”

“One man—but not me, yes?”

The breath pooled in her lungs. She couldn’t admit the truth, and it was beyond her ability at the moment to lie.

“I’d never live here,” she said hoarsely. “So why discuss it? Hey—you said you go into a relationship hoping for marriage. Does this ‘friend’ qualify for consideration?”

“Yes. She’s a widow. She wants to be a wife again.”

“Ah. Well, don’t worry about me and the future Mrs. Belue. I really don’t want to get in your way. I’ll even baby-sit her son if you want to take her dancing at Beaujean’s. I’m good with children. Children and
animals.” She paused, then smiled grimly. “The rest of the world? Forget it.”

Paul watched her silently, his head tilted to one side, his anger replaced by some utterly private emotion that made him look very tired. “I wish it could be different between you and me,” he murmured.

“I have to get Wolf to the set,” she countered, backing up desperately.

“Why did he run away?”

“He got bored with my company, I guess.”

“No,” Paul answered with soft emphasis. “You’re bossy, nosy, and hardheaded, but you’re never boring. And that’s a compliment.”

She smiled sincerely, her face hurting with the effort. “I look forward to meeting your friend.”

With that enormous lie gnawing at her, she took Wolf and hurried away.

The possible Mrs. Belue was small, dark-haired, and plump in the beautiful way of women in Renaissance paintings. Her sweet face was dominated by enormous hazel eyes, and she looked very feminine in a ruffled pink blouse and demurely loose jeans.

But there was nothing naive or faltering about her softness, and when Paul introduced her to Frank and Dabney on Friday afternoon she shook their hands firmly and looked not the least bit awkward in the presence of Hollywood people.

Caroline watched surreptitiously from the corner of the mansion’s cobweb-filled ballroom, where they were filming a scene in which Frederick, the kindly old swamp recluse, told gentle ghost stories to Toddy and Wolf.

All Wolf had to do was lie on the floor beside Frederick’s armchair and look majestic, which came naturally to him, so it had been an easy morning’s shoot.

All Caroline had to do was ignore the bittersweet jealousy clawing at her insides.

Paul cradled an adorable dark-haired boy in the crook of one muscular arm, and the child tugged affectionately at Paul’s long hair. In short, Paul looked happy with the woman and her son. They made a cozy little family.

Where were a Jew spitting llamas when she needed them?

Caroline grimaced in self-rebuke. The Wicked Witch of the West, that’s what she’d become if she didn’t watch out.

She glanced quickly at Wolf and found him studying her with curious eyes. Panting under the huge hot lights of the set, he flopped on his side and sighed heavily.

Master likes her. And her puppy
.

I know, Wolf
.

Go bite her. Chase her off
.

No
.

Puzzlement.
You won’t guard your mate?

Master is not my mate
.

He growled softly in disgust, fluffing his jowls out as he did. Frederick and the director were discussing the script. They froze, gazing at him worriedly.

“What’s wrong with the furry dude?” the director demanded, eyeing Caroline from under a tangle of tiny red braids that hung over her forehead like a woodpecker’s topknot.

“Repent, ye hound of hell,” Frederick intoned in his
Macbeth
voice, glaring at the animal that had once used his leg for a territorial marker.

“Relax, he’s just hot and bored,” Caroline told them hurriedly. She knelt beside Wolf and tugged on his front paw. “We’ll go for a walk while you guys rehearse.”

Anything to get away from Paul and his guest.

Wolf shut his eyes, yawned, and didn’t budge. She
gave another order. No response. Caroline squinted at him ruefully.
Meddling Wolf!

“Caroline. I want you to meet someone.”

The low, luxurious tones of Paul’s voice made her shiver. He had walked up behind her. Dread pooling in her stomach, she straightened gracefully and smoothed her sweaty palms over the dark green jump suit she wore.

It was blousy and belted, with epaulets on the shoulders and giant pockets over each breast. Caroline had liked its military-chic look in the window of a Beverly Hills boutique; now she felt like a silly Ramboette next to the conservative little darling who stood beside Blue.

“Angie, this is Caroline Fitzsimmons, the animal trainer I told you about. Caroline, this is Angelique Doucet and Mark. They’re from Baton Rouge.”

Caroline traded a smile with her, then Mark. The child looked back with wide, fascinated eyes, then chortled in delight. “
Maman
, she’s talking inside my head!”

Caroline bit her lip.
Whoops
. Most children weren’t quite certain what was happening when she communicated, so they didn’t mention it to their parents. To them it was a funny game, nothing out of the ordinary.

Angelique laughed and tweeked his nose. “You stop teasin’,
petit.
”

“But she said
‘Bonjour’
in my head!”

Caroline saw Paul’s bewildered frown from the corner of her vision. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “What an imagination! How old is he?”

“Five,” Angelique told her with a proud gleam in her eye.

“She already asked me how old I was,” Mark noted righteously, sounding like a perturbed French elf. “Inside my head.” He gave Caroline a firm look.

Caroline chuckled and resisted an inclination to hyperventilate. “I did, huh?”

“And then you said—”

“Enough of this game,
’tit
mouse!” his mother warned.

Mark, let it be our secret
, Caroline interjected quickly.

He gazed at her a second and then, with grand drama, gave her a wink. “Okay.”

She sagged inwardly with relief and looked at Angelique as if nothing strange had happened. “Are you and Mark just visiting for the weekend?”

“Yes. I teach grammar school, so I have to get home by Sunday night.”

“I guess Paul told you that I’m staying in a room here. I’ll be glad to baby-sit Mark if you’d like.”

“I might take you up on that. Paul and I have a lot of visiting to do.” She looked up at him and smiled gently. “I can’t wait to see the animals and walk the land again.”

Caroline watched him smile back at Angelique and began to drown inside.

Angelique—like an angel. She was a grammar school teacher—wholesomeness incarnate. And Cajun. And a doting mother. And obviously unattached to a husband. Plus she seemed to like this secluded piece of heaven as much as Blue did.

“Well, I better get back to work,” Caroline said cheerfully. “Wolf, let’s vamoose from these-hot lights while we’ve got the chance.” She focused on Wolf as if he required all her attention. “We’ve got to practice your lines for the next scene. Have to put some real emoting into that
arf arf growl.
”

Wolf stood, snuffled his nose into her outstretched hand, then turned and padded across the room and out a door.

Caroline laughed. “I guess that means I’d better hop to. Nice to meet you, Angelique.” She patted Mark’s leg, never looked at Paul, and glided away nonchalantly.

As Paul watched her leave, frustration knotted inside him like a heavy fist. What had he expected—that she’d resent Angelique, that she’d care whether he courted
another woman?
Courted
. Lord, his language was ridiculously old-fashioned. No wonder she was always looking at him as though he were quaint.

“What’s the matter,
petit?
”

Angelique was speaking to Mark. She reached up and stroked his hair lovingly. Paul twisted his head to gaze at the godson he held carefully in one brawny arm. Mark’s face had a look of brave sorrow, as if someone had just told him a sad story.

“It’s a secret,” he said solemnly.

That evening Paul and Angelique went out to dinner, taking Mark with them. Caroline wandered restlessly around the plantation grounds. She twirled a piece of moss in her hands and sat under an oak tree at the edge of the lawn, staring into the woods, Finally she ended up at the panther habitat, where Cat sprawled cozily next to his newly dyed wife, whom Paul had named Miss Clairol.

Cat flopped a leg over Miss Clairol’s black shoulders and licked her black ears. Miss Clairol nuzzled him happily.

“See what a trip to the beauty parlor can do for your love life?” Caroline called.

She went back to the house and paced back and forth in the downstairs rooms, trying to picture them without tons of camera equipment and a spider’s web of cables. She’d grown to like this old home with its open, gracious feel and aura of history.

Given the chance, she could turn it into a showplace—not the kind that made people think of a museum, but something comfortable and inviting, a mixture of old styles and new.

Given a chance.
Never
. Thumping her fists lightly against her temples, Caroline retreated to her small room off the kitchen and shut the door. She put on her
pajamas, got into bed, and reread a favorite Agatha Christie novel. Lord, wouldn’t Paul be shocked by her choice. He probably thought she preferred those glitzy sex-and-shopping books.

When she heard the sounds of Paul’s return she hugged her knees to her chest and stared at the ceiling until separate sets of doors closed upstairs. Then she flung herself on her stomach and spent the next hour morosely directing a granddaddy longlegs across the old linoleum floor.

Go left. Go right Make a circle
.

This was more interesting than remote control for a toy car.

Caroline jumped when she heard soft footsteps upstairs. They came down to the main level and eventually crossed the kitchen floor. Someone knocked at her door. “Caroline? Are you awake?” an accented female voice asked politely.

Angelique, the earth mother. Too bad she wasn’t a granddaddy longlegs.

“Yes.” Caroline threw on a robe that matched her pajamas—silky black with ornamental appliqués around the neck and sleeves. She opened the door and looked down at a smiling Angelique, who wore a fuzzy blue terry-cloth robe over some sort of ruffled pink gown.

Why, it’s a Cajun June Cleaver, Caroline thought, then rubbed her forehead wearily, and rebuked herself for the petty sarcasm. “Hi. Anything wrong?”

Angelique never stopped smiling. “I’m afraid so. You’re after my man.”

“You’ve been misinformed.”

Angelique smoothed back a neat strand of wavy brunette hair. “I’ve known Blue too many years to be misinformed about his feelings. Come, let’s have a glass of milk and talk.”

“No milk. I’m not into wholesome stuff,” Caroline said wryly.

“That’s why you’ve got to leave him alone.”

Caroline propped a hand on one hip. “I’ve changed my mind. Make it a milk double.”

They faced each other at the kitchen table, the room in darkness around them, the only light a soft circle from the old tin fixture that hung above the stove.

Angelique’s mouth thinned with grim recognition. “You love him,” she said firmly.

The breath rattled out of Caroline’s chest. “Yes.”

“Let me tell you something. The man could have as many women as he wants—a different woman every night. But he’s had a total of only four lovers in his lifetime. Thirty-two years. And that includes six years he spent dating me in high school and college. I know because I’m his best friend.”

“He’s special,” Caroline whispered. “I just didn’t realize how special.”

“
You don’t want to hurt this man.
”

“No.”

Angelique waved both hands exuberantly. “Then go back to your world, where everything is disposable and everyone gets bored with everyone else in a hurry, and leave Blue to the kind of woman who can make him happy. Not ecstatic, I know that. But happy, solidly, comfortably happy. I believe he’s ready to settle down now, and I intend to be the one he settles with.”

Caroline frowned. “There are good, caring, loyal people outside of southern Louisiana. Frank Windham, the producer you met today, is one of them. His wife is another.” Caroline raised her chin, feeling defiant and yet also hopeless. This little beauty was perfect for Paul in many ways. “I happen to consider myself a third.”

“
Bien
. Then do what’s honorable for Blue’s sake.”

Caroline bristled. “Do you really think he’s ready to ‘settle’ for a marriage based on mutual comfort and high school memories?”

“Blue’s a practical man. Surely you’ve noticed.”

“But he’s also the most vital, vibrant man I’ve ever known. And he’s waiting for someone special.”

“He’s lonely and he needs help running this place. He loves children and he wants to start a family before he gets much older.” Angelique slugged down her milk as if it were a fortifying shot of brandy. “Those considerations are more important than grand passion, and he knows it.”

Grasping the edge of the table with a fierceness that made her fingers hurt, Caroline asked, “So why are you worried about me? I’m no competition for you in the race for domestic bliss.”

“That’s right. All you can do is take him to bed, confuse him, hurt him.”

“You don’t know him as well as you think, or you wouldn’t underestimate his scruples and self-control.”

Angelique stood, and her eyes glittered with warning. “I don’t underestimate him. But I wonder what kind of woman you are, and what you’ve already done to provoke him.”

Caroline clasped her chest dramatically. “Ah. I’m the sleazy Hollywood type on the hunt for instant gratification, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I’m from Beverly Hills. It’s a higher level of sleaze.”