The Surprise of His Life (18 page)

"What
man on the beach?" her father asked.

"Just
some man," Lindsey said. She was uncertain how she felt about this man,
but she was prepared to use him to her own advantage. "After you left the
restaurant Friday night, Mother went to the beach."

"She
met him there?" Dean asked incredulously.

"That's
what she tells me," Lindsey said, closing the file cabinet and starting
back toward her desk. Her eyes met Walker's. Their gazes held for a fraction of
a hot second.

"She's
going out with some guy she met on the beach?" Dean asked.

"Mmm,"
Lindsey confirmed, looking over at Walker and asking, "Do you want this
priced by the end of the day?"

What
he wanted was for her to look less enticing, Walker thought as he took in the
snug fit of her summer-white sweater and jaunty sway of her ponytail. What he
wanted was a decent night's sleep. What he wanted was to forget the way her
lips had felt on his. What he wanted was to get the hell out of the office! he
thought, jumping to his feet and heading for the water dispenser. He grabbed a
paper cup and filled it.

"Yeah,"
he muttered in response to her question.

"You
don't seem too upset over this date," Dean accused his daughter. "You
don't even know this guy and you're willing to throw your mother at him."

"I'm
not throwing her at anybody. And I'm not even sure she's calling this a date.
They're just going to have lunch at Christie's. Besides, both you and she have
made it clear that this is none of my business."

"But
a date—"

"You
are
getting a divorce, Dad. I'm sure that you'll want to start dating
soon, too."

Walker
turned from the water dispenser just as Lindsey made this last remark. This
time his eyes collided with Dean's. Embarrassed, Dean looked away first.
Instinctively, as though it were his job to protect Lindsey, Walker sought her
out. He was relieved to note that she hadn't noticed the exchange. He was not
relieved to note that several strands of hair had slipped onto her cheek and
curled about her lips. As she absently brushed them aside, she glanced up. At
the sight of Walker watching her, she hesitated, the crook of her finger at the
corner of her mouth.

I
don't want to remember the taste of your mouth,
his look seemed
to say.

I
don't want you to forget,
hers returned.

He
crushed the paper cup in his hand and threw it at the trash can. At the same
time, he asked Dean, with more roughness than the question required, "Are
you going out to the platform?"

"Yeah,"
Dean grunted, still smarting from his wife's date.

"I
think I'll go with you."

Dean
looked surprised. "Why?"

Because
your daughter is driving me crazy,
Walker thought, but said, "Just
thought I would. Okay?"

"Sure,"
Dean said, heading for the door. "Let's go."

"I'll,
uh, I'll see you tomorrow," Walker said to Lindsey. There was an unspoken
implication that tomorrow would somehow be better than today. Tomorrow he
wouldn't remember the candy-sweet taste of her lips. Tomorrow he wouldn't
wonder what his tongue would taste if it dipped into the corners of her mouth
or the dimples that sometimes appeared. Tomorrow his sanity would be returned.

"Ya'll
be careful," Lindsey said softly, her glossy pink lips challenging his
logic.

Walker
groaned silently. Tomorrow
had
to be better. It just had to be.

Tomorrow
wasn't any better. In fact, it was worse. Walker slept poorly—again—leaving him
nothing better to do than toss and turn and swim restless laps in the pool. At
a quarter till five, he stopped trying to sleep and put on a pot of coffee. By
six-thirty, he was at the office and up to his eyebrows in work. The strong
coffee, the bright September sun and the pleasing distraction of his job buoyed
his spirits and left him feeling emotionally stronger than he had in some time.
Everything was going to be fine. Whatever had happened between him and Lindsey
was over—nothing more than a fleeting aberration.

His
optimistic mood lasted until Lindsey walked through the door.

Dressed
entirely in white—white slacks and a white blouse with an enormous square, lacy
collar—she was gorgeous. Both virginally wholesome and awesomely sexy. She
literally took his breath away, reduced him to the restless creature he'd been
the night before. He was lost, and she didn't try to save him. In fact, she did
everything in her power to drive him over the edge. She caressed him with her
eyes, she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, she touched him every
chance she got and made chances at every opportunity. She pursued him just as
she said she would. Walker didn't know whether to throttle her or throw her
down on a desk and make love to her.

At
four-thirty she placed a mug of steaming coffee before him. He glanced up,
wondering why the long day hadn't taken some toll on her. Instead, she looked
as fresh as when she'd arrived that morning. And as gorgeous. Up close, he
could see the straps of some lacy undergarment beneath her blouse. A brassiere?
A camisole? Or maybe a... What did they call those things? A teddy? Whatever it
was, it ought to be illegal.

"You
look as though you could use this," Lindsey said.

"Yeah,"
he grumbled, wrapping his hand about the hot mug and drawing it to his lips.
After a swallow, he asked, "Are you having fun?"

She
gave a coy look. "I don't know what you mean."

"The
hell you don't."

A
tiny smile at her lips, she said, "Oh, you mean my flirting with
you."

Despite
the circumstances, despite the miserable havoc she was playing with him, he
couldn't help but smile. He forced himself to limit it to a half smile.
"Yeah, I think that's what they call it."

"Well,
is it working?" she asked, easing to sit on the edge of his desk.

At
the tantalizing fragrance of her perfume, Walker, the mug in his hand, leaned
back in his chair. "You were the one who said I looked as though I needed
this."

Her
smile turned to a vixenish grin. "Now, exactly when are you going to stop
fighting me?"

This
time Walker didn't smile. He knew that it wasn't so much a matter of fighting
her as fighting himself. His answer was appropriate in either case. "I'm
not."

Lindsey
didn't look in the least perturbed. "We'll see." Scooting from the
desk, she said, "Oh, by the way, you want to buy me a drink after
work?"

"Yes,"
he answered, "but I'm not."

For
a moment her smile disappeared entirely and she looked like a consummate adult.
A concerned adult. "Poor Walker. I'm not making it easy for you, am
I?"

He
didn't answer. What was the point of stating what was blatantly obvious?

If
Thursday had been worse than the days preceding it, Friday was the worst of
all. Dean had been uncommonly surly—Friday noon had been Bunny's luncheon date
with the elusive Don. That, on top of another sleepless night, had left Walker
about as surly as his friend. To add insult to injury, Lindsey had flirted
outrageous, if subtly. He was, quite frankly, about ready to scream, get drunk
or throw a royal fit. Maybe all three.

"Who
in hell wrote this?" Walker grumbled. "I can't read a damned word of
it."

Lindsey
crossed to his desk and looked down at the notation. "You did."

That
only angered Walker more, that and the fact that all he'd wanted all day was to
be near Lindsey. God, he'd sell his soul to reach out, pull her down onto his
lap and smother her mouth with his! Which really showed what a sick son of a
bitch he was! Dropping his head, he tunneled his fingers through his hair. He
was vaguely aware that his knee hurt like hell. Was it going to rain? Was he
ever going to be at peace again? Was—

He
felt her hands at the nape of his neck, her fingers gently kneading and
massaging.

"It
says call Ramsey," she said. "Isn't he the foreman on Four?"

"Hmm,"
Walker mumbled, unable to stop her from what she was doing. Her caressing
fingers felt too wonderful on a neck whose muscles were strung tight.

"You
need to relax, Walker," she said, her voice having dropped to a few notes
short of a whisper. "You're tight."

Tight.
God, she didn't know the half of it! Every inch of his male body was stretched
to the point of popping. He couldn't take much more. Intuitively, he knew that.

"Stop
fighting," she whispered. "I want you. You want me. There's nothing
wrong with that."

"Lindsey..."
He felt the brush of her lips against the back of his neck and moaned.

"Why
don't we buy some wine and cheese and bread and go to the beach," she
said. He could feel her lips smiling against his neck. "I can't attack you
there. I can flirt a little maybe, but your virtue's safe."

"Lindsey..."
This time he felt her nibble at his ear. He also felt her lean forward. Her
breasts nestled into his back. She'd worn another see-through blouse, the ivory
fabric of which was so soft as to be almost nonexistent.

He
moaned.

"Or,"
she growled softly, "we could take the wine and cheese and bread and have
a picnic in your backyard. Your virtue, however, is definitely not safe
there."

"Lindsey—"

"Come
to think of it..." she said, biting the back of his neck.

"Stop
it."

"...It
might not be safe on the beach, either."

"Lindsey—"

Her
tongue rasped across his neck.

His
control gone, Walker grabbed her hand and pulled her from him. "Dammit,
don't!" At her sudden wide-eyed, very startled look, he added hoarsely,
"Please." When she still said nothing, he said, the words tattered
and torn, "I'm begging you."

For
long, long, eternally long seconds, neither said anything. There didn't seem to
be anything to say. Walker could see her hurt. She could see his frustration.
She could also see that he'd just arrived at the end of his rope.

Slowly,
Walker realized that he was still holding her wrist. He released his hold,
feeling oddly bereft by the loss of her touch. It was strange, he thought, but
all it took to make him happy these days was her touch. He could never remember
when so little seemed like so much.

"I,
uh, I think I'll leave early today," he said.

She
said nothing.

"Why
don't you, too? There's nothing here that won't keep over the weekend."

Still,
she said nothing.

He
rose. "I, uh, I'll see you Monday." When she still said nothing, but
rather stood looking as though he'd struck her, he added, "Lindsey—"

"It's
all right," she said quietly.

They
both knew that it wasn't, however. In fact, everything was a damned sight short
of all right, and there was the real possibility that nothing would ever be
right again.

Lindsey
sat in her car, staring at the unturned key. Minutes before, she'd paid for the
pina colada that she'd nursed for the past hour and left the hotel bar where,
weeks before, she and Walker had shared a drink. She wished now that she hadn't
chosen that particular bar. It had too many memories. But then, memories
plagued her no matter where she went.

"Dammit,
don't... please.
..
I'm begging you."

Walker
was nearing the breaking point. It was what she wanted—for him to lose the
struggle with his emotions and, thereby, for her to win. She hadn't realized,
though, that his losing would be so painful for him, so soul-wrenchingly
painful. She had heard the pure agony in his voice. He wanted her, and that
fact was eating him alive, for it was making him go against every fiber of his
integrity. He had not yet—and maybe never would—come to terms with what was
happening between them. He saw his feelings for her as a betrayal of her
parents and a breaching of his godfather responsibilities. How stupid of her
not to know how hurtful this betrayal of his principles would be. How stupid!
How insensitive! How naive? Yes, how incredibly naive.

So,
where did she go from here? She didn't want to keep hurting Walker. She
couldn't keep hurting him. When you loved someone, you didn't hurt that
someone. At least not if you could help it. All of which meant, she guessed,
that she'd have to rethink her battle plan.

She
sighed, feeling the September heat ooze through the sheer lawn fabric of her
blouse. Though almost seven-thirty, it was still as hot as Hades, and the
humidity was as dense as a chunk of wood. The radio had earlier reported
rumblings of a storm in the Gulf, which could, ultimately, mean wind and rain
for the island. At the present she would welcome such a cleansing, although it
might be days down the road... if at all. Right now, she had to decide where to
go, because she couldn't very well sit in this parking lot all night.