The Count From Wisconsin (9 page)

Steeling himself against thoughts that were even more intimate, he got on with the job of smoothing away the tangles.

For a few seconds after he had taken the comb from her, Kate was grateful for Alex's help. Now she was beginning to realize what an erotic thing having one's hair combed was.

The tingles he produced so easily in her played on her flesh and her senses. Gooseflesh stood out on the nape of her neck at his touch. She had read of proper Victorian ladies swooning when overtaken by strong emotions, but she never thought she would come so close to it herself.

At last, she heard him exhale roughly, then he said, "I think that's got it. We'd better get some sleep now."

Her heart was pounding visibly in her breast as she hastily braided her hair. Afterward she glanced down at her rumpled dress. It wasn't exactly made for sleeping, but she wasn't about to take it off.

Alex didn't speak as he extinguished the light, and she shivered when darkness flooded the barn. Ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beastles, she thought, stifling a semihysterical giggle. Then as her eyes began to adjust to the dark, she felt Alex lie down beside her and "things that go bump in the night" were forgotten.

She held herself stiff for as long as she could, then began to fidget as she felt the lumps of hay poking into her side. She jumped skittishly when he began to punch the blanket beside him. Then he pulled her over until she rested in the indention he had made.

"Are you comfortable now?"

She snorted indelicately. "Sure I am. Didn't I tell you the dream that sustained me into adulthood was spending the night in a place a good wind would blow away?"

"Here, relax against me." He lifted her head, then shifted and cradled it on his shoulder. "Now, Isn't that better?"

She started to answer, but stopped suddenly, holding her breath. She remained silent for a moment, then whispered, "Alex, is—" She stopped to clear her throat. "Is your hand on my breast?"

"What?" He glanced down to where his large hand covered her left breast. "Why, so it is," he said in surprise, then looked back at her and said solemnly, "My hand is definitely on your breast."

She swallowed nervously. "Are you going to take it away?"

His hand tightened a fraction. "Not unless the barn catches on fire," he said gruffly.

When he lowered his head, Kate knew he was going to kiss her. And if he did, it wouldn't stop at a kiss. The tension between them had been building all day, and since he had combed her hair, you could have-cut it with a knife.

"Alex," she whispered when his lips were only an inch away. "No."

"No?" He held himself perfectly still, his eyes narrowing as he peered through the darkness to study her features.

She could feel the tautness in him and it caused an ache she couldn't identify. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so abrupt. She wanted to explain, but how could she explain something she didn't fully understand herself?

Suddenly he pulled his arm from beneath her to prop himself up on one elbow. "I see," he said, nodding. "No lips ... so how about ears?" He swooped down to nip her earlobe. "Or cheeks . . . or a nose ... or maybe a chin?"

Each time, he suited the action to the word, kissing her faster and faster as she began to laugh and dodge his lips. She knew he was trying to clear the air and she silently thanked him.

"How about a temple? A well-turned temple drives me wild," he murmured against her skin.

"Stop it, you idiot." She laughed.

He lay back, resting his head on his forearm. "On one condition."

"And that is?" she asked warily.

"Let me have half a lip and I'll stop."

"Alex—" she began.

"I know, I know." He sighed roughly and pulled her back to her former position against his shoulder. "You're thinking it's not supposed to happen this fast." He cupped her chin with his right hand. "But, Katy, don't you see? We're lucky. Most people have to spend months, even years, getting to know each other as well as we have in just two days." He stroked her cheek with his rough fingers. "I promise not to push you if youll promise not to worry about rules and what's 'normal.' "

For a moment she couldn't speak. Did all that really make sense or was it just that she wanted to believe what he was saying?

"Okay," she said at last. "Half a lip."

He toughed, knowing that her okay meant more than a kiss. He cupped her neck and pulled her closer, brushing his lips across the corner of her mouth. Then he exhaled slowly and whispered, "I'm giving serious thought to becoming a monk, Duchess."

"A monk?"

"Yeah," he murmured wryly. "I think I'm beginning to get the celibacy bit down pat."

She laughed softly, snuggling against him as he wrapped his suede jacket around them both.

Six

When Kate awoke Alex was no longer beside her. There was still-a chill in the air, but rays of sunshine fell through cracks in the barn door in shafts of platinum-gold.

Wrapping his suede jacket more closely around her, she huddled and thought of the way they had slept with their arms around each other through the night.

Because Kate was a restless sleeper, she had always assumed she wouldn't be able to adjust to sleeping with a man. But with Alex, there had been no fighting for space, no cramped muscles. They had fit together perfectly, their limbs entwined. She realized with surprise how soundly she had slept, as though she had been sleeping with him for years.

Yawning lazily, she wondered where he was now and what he was doing. She felt a little strange, a little empty, then realized it was the first time she had been completely alone since he
had followed her from the restaurant the day
before.

Who was this Wisconsin count who affected her so strongly? He had told her almost nothing about his past and very little about why they were here. How did she know the little he had told her was true? She had only his word that the unknown man in the Jaguar was an accessory to blackmail.

But before her mind could even get started on that train of thought, she stopped herself with a frown. No, Kate. It won't work, she admitted silently. She couldn't even call up the smallest doubt about Alex's sincerity. It had been too strong in his face and in his voice when he had told her about his friend's problem.

It was truth time, she decided in resignation. His reasons for chasing across the French countryside after an unknown man were not important. What was important was why she had chosen to come with him.

Was it really a yearning for adventure or even a belief that fate had brought them together to test her? Or could it be nothing more complicated than the fact that she was attracted to him and wanted to be with him?

She realized ruefully that the last possibility had the ring of truth, but where did that get her? She was attracted to him and he obviously felt the same about her, but she had been attracted to men before, although never like this. Why was this time different? And where was it all leading?

Suddenly she looked up and found Alex kneeling beside her. Quickly she drew a curtain on the thoughts spinning around in her mind and smiled her greeting.

"I was wrong," he said quietly. "Your eyes aren't brown. They're caramel." His voice held amazement, as though he had discovered something miraculous.

Kate lowered her eyes, wishing she had had more time to think about him. This was no ordinary attraction. His tone and the look in his eyes as well as his words brought a flood of warmth to her body. It took a major effort on her part to keep from reaching out to him.

"Good morning," she said as she pulled herself upright, her voice sounding uncharacteristically reserved.

"Good morning." He chuckled. "While you were sleeping I've been busy." He placed a wrapped and tied package in her lap. "I thought you might appreciate a change of clothes. It's only jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, but at least they won't look like you slept in them."

Kate felt her reserve slip away at his easygoing tone. "Are you suggesting that I'm rumpled?" she asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she tore off the brown paper wrapping.

"On you, rumpled looks stunning," he said gallantly, pulling something from under the stack of clothing.

"A toothbrush!" she exclaimed, cradling the blue brush. "You're an angel. I can't get started until I brush my teeth." She paused and glanced quickly around the small barn, seeing it for the first time in daylight. "Alex . . . um . . . where's the powder room in this hotel?"

"I was afraid you were going to ask that," he said ruefully. "I'm afraid the powder room consists of an outhouse and a pump beside the trough in the yard."

"A pump?" she echoed in astonishment. "I've never seen a real pump. Are you sure it works? I didn't think anyone still used them."

He nodded, smiling at her pleasure. "It works. It's probably left over from days gone by. I imagine they have running water in—"

"Wait—wait a second," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Did you say outhouse ... as in half-moon-on-the-door, two-holer, drafts-on-the-cheeks outdoor latrine? That kind of outhouse?"

He nodded, trying to keep his face straight.


"I'm afraid so. It's either that or wait until we get


to a gas station." <

"Some choice," she muttered, then shrugged in resignation. "Never let it be said that Kate Sullivan lacked the pioneer spirit that made America what it is today... a place with nice, shiny indoor bathrooms."

Ignoring his laughter, she gathered her new clothes together, then stood up, enthusiasm building at the thought of a new day despite the limited facilities. She had felt excitement stirring as soon as she found Alex kneeling beside her. It was like an electric aura that surrounded him, touching her when he was near, but disappearing when he did.

She spent as little time as possible in the small outhouse; quaint was one way she could have described it, however it was not the word that kept popping into her mind. After quickly changing into the things he had bought her—they were just a tiny bit snug—she joined Alex in the yard.

While he worked the handle up and down, she brushed her teeth and washed her face in the water from the ancient pump. It was icy cold, but the novelty of having it pumped right out of the ground kept her mind off her frozen face.

Afterward she sat on a small milking stool and, while she was serenaded by hundreds of birds, she combed and rebraided her hair.

Sitting on a stump, Alex watched Kate work with her hair and suddenly wished they didn't have to leave. He knew it was crazy, but he wouldn't mind sleeping on hay or washing under an ancient pump in the open air if he just could linger a while longer with her.

Something had happened to him as he had held her in his arms the night before. Something wonderful and new and exciting. He found himself dreaming of holding her ten years in the future, twenty years in the future.

He had sat for quite a while that morning watching her as she slept. He was wondering how she would look tying in his bed back in Wisconsin but knowing all the while that she would never look lovelier than she did tying on a pile of hay.

The feeling was strange for Alex. He had desired women before. And he had liked women before. There had even been women that he had both liked and desired, but he had never thought of growing old with any of them. He wanted to grow old with Kate. He wanted to be there when she got her first gray hair. He wanted to watch her play with their children and grandchildren.

The thought of making children with Kate brought an indescribable, fluttering ache to his heart and he felt his stomach muscles tighten as though he were held in the grip of an iron fist.

Breathing deeply, Alex forced his expression to remain normal. He couldn't rush her now. It was too important and he had done too much pushing already. She had to be as sure of him as he was of her.

They ate freshly baked croissants in the open air, sighing over them as though they were ambrosia and laughing at anything that popped into their heads. It was a morning out of a storybook, a morning to store away in memory and pull out on cold days in the future.

After breakfast, Alex placed a handful of francs under a clay pot sitting on the porch and they left. Back on the road, he positioned the Mercedes behind a deserted shed so that they could watch for Alvarez.

They had waited less than thirty minutes when the Jaguar passed them, and Alex pulled out of their hiding place, following it to the superhighway that ran all the way to Paris.

The highway was much more heavily traveled than the small road they had begun on, but it had the advantage of letting them stay close to the Jaguar without being detected. They passed the time delving into each other's minds and Kate thoughtfully absorbed the memories of Alex's childhood in Wisconsin.

It certainly didn't sound like the background of a count, she realized. His experiences more closely matched those of Tom Sawyer, in fact a normal American childhood. An only child, he seemed to have fond memories of both his parents and she could find nothing in what he told her that suggested anything unusual in his upbringing.

The miles flew by as they talked. Just after one, Alvarez abandoned the highway for a small country road.

"This may be it," Alex said as he dropped back to keep from being seen on the almost deserted road.

"May be what?" Kate asked in confusion, sensing a new tension in him.

"He may be meeting his contact somewhere around here."

Alex sounded as though that were something to be desired, but Kate wondered if she really wanted to be around when the blackmailer was unmasked. The person whom Kate had mentally designated Mr. Big was not someone she was looking forward to meeting.

When the sports car pulled up before a large, slightly garish restaurant, Alex passed it and parked the Mercedes a short distance down the street.

Opening the door, he stepped out, then dipped his head to say, "I'm going in to see what he's doing."

Every gangster movie Kate had ever seen came back to haunt her as she sat in the car waiting for Alex, terrible visions of massacres and assassinations and cement overcoats. Until that moment she hadn't even considered the possibility that what he was doing might be dangerous. She suddenly wanted to run after him and . . . and . . .

Just exactly what would I do? she thought in disgust. Protect him from the bad guys? Ask him to forget about helping his friend?

She shook her head. There was nothing she could do except wait and trust him. He was an intelligent man, a strong man, and she would trust him with her life. Now she would simply have to learn to trust him with his own.

As she rubbed her fingers across her brow in thought, something vague began to nip at-the edges of her mind. It concerned Alex and the way he was taking over her every thought. But before she could grasp it, he was back.

He slid behind the wheel and shrugged at her expectant look. "He's ordering lunch . . . alone," he said, his voice showing his disappointment.

"Alex," she began hesitantly. "Couldn't he simply be on his way to see his parents or a girlfriend?"

"I've considered that possibility," he admitted slowly. "Not that I think he would be visiting his parents; he's not the sentimental type. But he could be on business that has nothing to do with Tony." He shrugged. "I just couldn't take the chance. For weeks now Paul has been following him around in Monte Carlo during the days, while I wined and dined the bastard at night. And neither of us has come up with one solid fact. He doesn't seem to have met secretly with anyone." He tightened his fingers on the steering wheel. "It has to be now or we're down to beating the truth out of him."

She reached over to cover one of his large hands with hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll work out. You'll see."

"Sure it will." He grinned, his grim expression disappearing. "Now let's go have lunch." He started the car. "There's a little cafe across the street from his restaurant. This time we can watch him in comfort."

Alex parked the Mercedes behind the small frame building and they entered through a side door. It was a charming place. Its small wooden tables were covered with bright yellow oilcloth, a bouquet of wild flowers in the center of each, and the most wonderful smells emanated from its back room. A lively trio of elderly musicians stood in the corner of the room, smiling happily as they filled the room with slightly off-key but enthusiastic music.

A few seconds after they had seated themselves at a window table a young, smiling waiter came over to take their order. He had the dark good looks that make the French so appealing, and while he waited for them to decide, he occupied himself by examining Kate's tight jeans with wide-eyed appreciation. There wasn't anything furtive about his observation and he showed such open, naive pleasure in her natural endowments that Kate couldn't possibly feel offended.

She noticed, however, that Alex wasn't quite so complacent about accepting his admiration. He frowned and glared up at the young man and when he began to order his voice was stiff.

Glancing back to the menu, Kate tried to decipher the list. Then gradually she realized that Alex was talking too long to be ordering a meal. She raised her eyes as she caught a word or two of the rapid French Alex was using in his conversation with the waiter.

"Epouse?" she asked, placing a hand on his arm. "Doesn't that mean wife?" He smiled in satisfaction and she gasped. "Alex! Did you tell him we were married?"

There was no way she could let him get away with such a blatant lie. Kate caught the waiter's arm as he began to turn away and she started to stumble through a denial in her awful high school French.

The man gazed down at her, his eyes widening as she spoke, then he began to back away, shaking his head nervously as though she had threatened his life. She gazed after him for a moment, then turned her eyes to Alex in bewilderment. "What was that all about? Why—"

She broke off, growing even more confused when she took in his strangely mottled face.

"What were you trying to say?" Alex asked, his voice sounding choked.