Shadowed Paradise (25 page)

“
The ambiance is the whole
point.”

Sometimes she forgot Little Boy Blue had seen
the world. Mistake. The tunnel-vision arrogance of Claire Langdon
of Manhattan and points east was hard to erase.

While Claire suffered from chagrin, Brad
produced a professional-size flashlight to light their way up the
stairs. “The roof only went on last week,” he explained as they
entered the gaping rectangle that would become the front door.

Claire was immediately lost in a sea of two
by fours. The wooden framing stretched into the darkness like some
giant’s matchstick toy. There was no way she could distinguish one
room from another.

“
In two or three weeks it will begin to
look like a house,” Brad assured her. “Five or six and you’ll be
able to move in.” He paused, then took the leap. “You
are
going to sit this baby for me,
aren’t you?”

Decision time. Not so difficult. The choice
had been made back at the intersection with the dirt road to Bud’s
Fish Camp. Brad Blue, for better or for worse.

“
If you can guarantee no snakes,” was
all she said.

“
Don’t move, I’ll be right back.” Brad
plunged back through the space that would someday be the front door
and disappeared into the blackness of the night.

Move? How could she move when Brad had taken
the flashlight? The cool dampness, the exotic scent of tropical
jungle washed clean by the late afternoon rain drifted through the
inky darkness. Sounds of the night closed in. The steady clack of
cicadas, the peeps and chugs of frogs of all sizes, the hoot of a
nearby owl. Something that sounded distinctly like a snarl. Oh,
dear lord, Claire wondered, what else had come in through the
wide-open door and window spaces?

A vision danced through her head. Mr. &
Mrs. Home Buyer, having just paid four hundred thousand for their
dream house in the pines, go down to the semi-enclosed garage under
the house, open the door of their Lincoln Continental, and find a
rattlesnake coiled on the front seat. Or maybe an alligator tail
peeking out from under the chassis . . .

Light danced across the deck as Brad
returned, unceremoniously dumping a large bundle at her feet.
Before the flashlight flicked off, Claire got the message. Loud and
clear. What Brad had brought from the truck was a sleeping bag, a
comforter and a pillow.

Adrenalin soared. She’d said yes to sitting
his matchstick models. Not to anything else.

But they both knew it wasn’t so. She was
caught, hook, line and sinker. There was no way she could be near
him and not be his. Phil Tierney might be able to manage it. Claire
Langdon could not.

Moonlight filtered in, illuming Brad’s shadow
as he spread the thick puff over the floor, placed the quilted
sleeping bag on top, then, with a flourish, tossed the pillow
precisely in place. “All the comforts of home.”

Pride dictated one last protest. “Brad,”
Claire choked out, “I’ve got to tell you I think you’re better off
with Diane Lake. You need a model sitter, fine. But I’m a widow,
with child. As a mistress, I’d be a real washout.”

“
Mistress!” Brad spluttered, rocking
back on his booted heels. “What ark did you drag that from? I never
took you for stupid, Ms. Langdon. Believe me,
mistress
is the last thing I have in
mind.”

Silence while they both thought that one
over. Brad snapped off the flashlight.

A jolt of pure sexual excitement shot through
her as he clamped his hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly
pushing her down until she was sitting on the soft mound of
bedding. He lowered himself beside her, his bulk an amorphous
silhouette against the night sky, now faintly lit by a newly risen
half moon. With what sounded suspiciously like a long-suffering
sigh of exasperation, Brad dropped his head onto his knees. Claire
had to resist the impulse to run her fingers through his long mane
of tightly bound hair, ghostly pale in the moonlight. To bend just
a little, gather him into her arms. To ignore reality. To murmur
platitudes designed to fool them into thinking their worlds could
coincide.

Impossible. They simply couldn’t make this
work.

“
Okay, I’ve been a real pain tonight,”
Brad declared, straightening his shoulders but keeping his eyes
fixed on the window space, where the half moon moved like an
elusive wraith behind the thick leaves of the oak. “But there’s
something I planned to say, and—
dammit
—I’m going to do it anyway. Just don’t say
no.
Don’t say anything
until
you’ve heard me out. All right?”

He wasn’t . . . He couldn’t . . . They barely
knew each other . . .

No way. For a moment she’d let her
imagination shift into warp mode. Ridiculous! Silently, Claire
nodded.

“
This shouldn’t come as a surprise,”
Brad began, sounding more like a belligerent defense attorney in a
courtroom than a lover. “From the night we met I’ve known you’re
the woman for me. And if you don’t feel the same way, you sure are
one hell of an actress.”

His words echoed back at him through
the darkness.
Shit!
He was
doing it all wrong. Sounding his death knell with every syllable.
But if he looked at her, he’d be totally fucked up. He’d grab and
take. Never getting to the honorable bits he was determined to lay
at her feet. So to hell with it, he’d gaze at the moon behind the
oaks and make his speech, just as he’d planned. Even if the evening
had been a bitch so far and showed few signs of improving any time
soon.

“
I think Jamie’s a great kid,” he
continued doggedly, “and he seems to like me. Your grandmother
likes me. She tells me your parents will like me . . .”

“
You spoke to Ginny about us?” Claire
burst out.

Hell, from her ominous tone he’d
whiffed the ball again.
Dugout, Blue.
Now!
“Yeah,” he asserted, “we’re doing this the
old-fashioned way. Right down the line.”

“
That’s outrageous . . .”

“
Shut up, Claire. I haven’t finished
yet.” Ignoring her indignant intake of breath, he ploughed on. “On
paper I’m worth a small fortune, but I owe half again as much as
I’m worth. I could end up with nothing but my government
pension.”

He paused, inviting comment. The silence
seethed, but Claire said nothing.

“
You already know I’ve got the devil of
a temper, but I’ve never hit a woman in my life. I’m not easy to
live with, but temperament isn’t all bad,” he added slyly. “Makes
for plenty of passion between the sheets.”

“
No sheets,” Claire pointed out, eyeing
the mound of bedding.

“
Cute. I may not hit women,” Brad
declared slowly, swinging round to face her, “but that doesn’t
preclude wringing necks.”

Dear God, she’d done it again. Raw nerves
exploding into a joke at entirely the wrong moment. Brad might have
set a new record for awkward marriage proposals, but he was deadly
serious. Defensive, seemingly indifferent, because he thought the
city society girl might say no.

And she’d given him . . . levity.

He hadn’t been brave enough to say he loved
her. Probably took it for granted. But he’d been on the verge of an
old-fashioned proposal of marriage, complete with permission from
her eldest relative. Feminists would rise up in arms, but,
truthfully, now she thought about it . . .

Okay, she had to point out the obvious.
“We’ve known each other less than a month.”

“
So? You react to every man who asks
you out the way you react to me?”

“
Don’t be ridiculous!” The idea was so
absurd Claire felt forced to add, “I don’t think there
is
anyone else like you.”

“
Well?” Brad challenged.

In the moonlight filtering through the open
spaces that would become doors and windows, Claire could see him
better now, recognize the anxiety behind the single word that was
redolent with the chip-on-the-shoulder attitude of the boy who had
once been known as Little Boy Blue. It screamed of the farm kid
from Florida’s back country who knew exactly what he was reaching
for when he proposed marriage to Claire Langdon of the Connecticut
shoreline, Central Park East, and Bedford, New York. The gap was
far wider than twelve hundred miles.And beneath the bravado he was
also sensitive enough to recognize that for Claire, the word
marriage brought back the ego-shattering memories of
disillusionment and the nightmare that came after.

Passion was so easy, Claire thought. It
was love that was frightening. Even in the very best early days of
her marriage to Jim their love was tempered by reason, good
breeding, good manners. With Brad, she
wanted
, she
needed
. He was larger than life. A roaring flood
washing her away into unmarked territory.

Yet how could she make a commitment to him
when marriage had brought her so much pain?

She wanted. She loved. Oh yes, she loved. But
she couldn’t. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

Patience was not one of Brad’s virtues. If
Claire needed a little help making up her mind . . . The lemony
scent she liked to wear filled his senses, mingling with the scent
of Claire herself. All female, quivering on the edge of passion.
Warm, wanting . . . frightened. Hell, he wasn’t above a little
seductive persuasion.

“
Give me a month,” she was saying.
“Just to catch my breath. I don’t think we should leap into
this.”

He had always been ruthless about getting
what he wanted. A distinct asset in his job, but perhaps not the
best quality in romantic relationships. With Diane Lake he’d never
had to use it until the night they parted. Diane had been ruthless
enough for both of them.

Brad traced Claire’s lower lip with his
thumb. “Okay,” he agreed with deceptive mildness. “I can live with
that. Just keep in mind that you’re mine. I’ll keep the ring in my
pocket, but as far as I’m concerned, we’re already engaged.”

Ring. He had a
ring
. Well, of course he did. He’d made it obvious
this was no spur of the moment proposal . . .

Thought ceased.

Somehow Claire was flat on her back, her head
neatly nestled in the pillow. Brad’s hands were already up under
her shirt, busy with the front hook of her bra.

“
No!” She grabbed his wrists, which
turned out to be a bit like latching onto the steel girders of a
skyscraper.

Brad froze. Nothing moved but his lips. “For
God’s sake, why not?”

Claire crumpled. “Because I’m
terrified,” she wailed. “Because you fill my life, my world, my
soul until there is nothing else. I can’t, I
won’t
let myself be overwhelmed by you. All you
have to do is look at me and I forgive you anything. Touch me and
I’m yours. Which must surely make me some kind of whore. Certainly
a fool. I once thought I was a candidate for wife and mother of the
year. Snug, smug, and blind in my glittering uppercrust
nest.”

Pain slashed through her as she recalled her
fool’s paradise. “I promised myself I’d never be that stupid again.
No matter how I feel about you, I have to remember I have a son,
and making a home for him is more important than any of my own
selfish needs.” Claire gulped as tears threatened. She was a blind,
stubborn idiot, but no way was she going to leap without a good
long look.

“
So you love me,” Brad murmured, moving
in to brush his lips over hers.

Her head whirled. Obviously, they were as
well-matched in stubbornness as they were in passion. Like the old
Claire, Brad heard only what he wanted to hear. She opened her
mouth to protest and found it filled with an extra tongue. Large,
hot, and agile enough to work the line at a pretzel factory. Her
toes uncurled only when he pulled back far enough to breathe, “You
do love me, you know,” before turning his attention to her cheeks,
licking the salty drops that clung there.

Claire made one last stab at sanity. “It’s
just sex,” she declared. “Great sex. You’re a wicked, charming
hunk, Mr. Blue. The icing on any woman’s cake. But it’s
infatuation, that’s all it is. And I can’t live the rest of my life
on froth.”

“
Froth!” Brad reared back.
“
Froth
, is it, Ms. Langdon?”
He grabbed her hand and placed it on the bulging front of his
jeans. “Does that feel like froth?” he demanded.

Claire was decidedly right-handed, so the
blow that hit him across the face with her free left hand was not
her best effort.

Shit!
He’d
messed up again. He should have known better. Diane would have
laughed and tightened her grip. Phil would have hit him a lot
harder.

Very carefully Brad raised both hands
shoulder high, palms out. “I apologize. I’m a crude, rude Florida
cracker. I usually don’t act like this, and I can’t even blame it
on the full moon.” He looked at her hopefully, his lips quirking
into a little smile. “Wanna try again?”

“
You’re hopeless.” Claire
sighed.

“
Look, woman. I love you. I want to
marry you. I want your body so much I damn near embarrass myself
every time I’m in the same room with you. If that’s not enough
inducement for a little midnight trysting, I don’t know what
is.”

O-kay, Claire thought, there was nothing in
the rule books that said she couldn’t enjoy herself while she was
making up her mind. As long as she kept a clear head.