Cool Shade Page 7

He continued to contemplate her in the rudest way. His thick, dark brows lifted in what she hoped was feigned boredom.

  His hair was wild. Or wilder than usual. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. He rubbed his face, the movement providing her with a glimpse of muscled armpit. He looked sexier than ever. Damn him.

  "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to break into people's houses?" he asked blandly.

  "Oh that. Actually—" She pointed to somewhere behind her, off in the distance. "The door—it was unlocked."

  Hands braced on either side of the mattress, she attempted to scoot herself a little higher in bed. Pain shot up her arm, so she stayed right where she was.

  "You cut yourself making your getaway. Or attempted getaway, I should say."

  The sheet slipped down to her waist. She saw that she was wearing an unfamiliar green T-shirt. "My clothes."

  One side of his mouth curved up. "Bloody."

  She felt under the sheet at the rest of her. Her shorts. They were gone, too.

  How had he managed that? Without her even knowing? Thank God, she still had on her panties. Or did she?

  She checked.

  Yes.

  With a weak wrist, she tossed back the sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. As soon as her feet touched the floor, the room slanted. She stood up, rolling ship be damned. That's when everything turned black and her ears began to hum.

  One second Eddie was perched on the end of the bed like some gargoyle, the next he was standing in front of her, hands on her shoulder urging her firmly back on the bed. She didn't argue, and her bottom made solid contact with the mattress.

  "Head down."

  A hand to the back of her head left no room for argument.

  Hello knees.

  Hello floor.

  Paying him homage, the last position she wanted to be in. But gradually, she began to feel better. "I'm okay." She waved a hand, knocking him away, letting her heavy head fall back against the pillow, her body twisted at the waist, her feet still dangling off the side of the bed.

  He lifted her legs, straightening her out. The T-shirt slid up, revealing white panties. She didn't even care. She felt too awful to care.

  Without covering her, he sat down, mattress dipping, his hip against her thigh.

  He was getting very familiar.

  He braced a hand on either side of her, leaning forward. "You're going to have to stay here a while." With that announcement, he got to his feet. The mattress bobbed, the sudden movement almost catapulting her through the ceiling.

  "The hell I am."

  She meant for the words to sound strong, outraged. Intimidating. Instead, they were hardly more than a whisper.

  He smiled in that sexy, knowing way of his. Then he leaned close, his fingers brushing her temple as he smoothed the soaked hair from her forehead. "I'll take care of you."

  "That's what I'm afraid of," she said weakly.

  He laughed.

  Was she his entertainment?

  "You can't force me to stay here against my will." She was sweating again. In her weakened condition, that might be exactly what he could do. "What are you, some kind of hillbilly? Some Clyde Bundy?"

  He rolled that around in his head. "Clyde Bundy?" He nodded, as if suddenly deciding she'd come up with a good idea. "Now there's a thought."

  Anybody else would have freaked out by now. A good thing she was used to weird situations.

  She suddenly remembered her poor cat. "Hemingway!"

  "Hemingway?" That perked him right up. "Who's that? Your boyfriend?"

  She was staring at his mouth, at the way it kind of turned up just a little at the corners. "My cat."

  "Hemingway is your cat?"

  Sweet, sweet mouth. "Yes. He has to be kissed— fed! He has to be fed!"

  "Cats are pretty self-sufficient. I'll bet he can get along without you for a while."

  She thought about the cat food they'd torn open. One of those shared moments of quality time. The food would last a week. "He needs me."

  "Hemingway… does this cat have six toes?"

  "How did you know?"

  "Ernest Hemingway collected cats with six toes."

  Wow. In all the years she'd had Hemingway, no one had figured that out. She was impressed. And sleepy.

  "You're tired."

  Her eyes flew open. She hadn't even realized she'd closed them. "No I'm not."

  "Get some rest while I fix you something to eat."

  "Not tired…" But her eyelids were so heavy she couldn't keep them open.

  Chapter 14

  Tainted Love

  "Tell me what you were doing in my house."

  Once again, Eddie was perched on the end of her bed—or his bed—like some raven. Dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a gray T-shirt, he looked as if he'd cleaned up, even shaved. It was evening, twenty-four hours after Maddie's unsuccessful heist or bungle or whatever it had been. Earlier in the day, Eddie had presented her with something he'd called a soy burger. She'd looked at it with extreme suspicion, then wolfed it down.

  A guy who could cook. A sexy guy who could cook. Every woman's dream, except that this guy was holding her hostage.

  She decided to come clean. She told him about her sister, about how she'd been searching for clues. "Her name was Enid. Blond. Sexy. Surely you remember her."

  "Yeah, I remember her. I remember the way she was always coming out here, hanging around. Said she had it bad for me. Maybe she did, but she was after something. Just like you. What are you after, Madison Magenta Smith?"

  A lot of good it had done her to tell him the truth. "How about, I was on a scavenger hunt and needed a musty mouse skeleton from the house of Eddie Berlin?"

  "You were looking for something, but it wasn't a dead mouse."

  Amazing what a dose of real food could do for a person. She felt a million times stronger. "Where are my clothes? I'm leaving."

  "They're too dirty and bloody to wear."

  "I want them."

  "I'll give you your clothes when you tell me what you were looking for."

  "Do you think you can actually keep me here? Against my will?" She was afraid that was exactly what he thought. "There are laws."

  He unfolded himself from his perch to stand next to the bed. "The part you seem to be forgetting is that you broke into my place. You committed a crime, not me."

  There were too many things going on here. There was the conversation, yes, but there was more. There was everything that had gone on before between them, and everything that might go on in the future. His body language was hard for her to decipher, and so often body language was more important than actual spoken words. What she was reading was frustration, and maybe some confusion. He didn't know what to make of her, or what to do with her.

  "If you decide to tell me the truth, just yell,” he said. “I'll be around." And he left, locking the door behind him.

  Well, she wasn't some puny damsel in distress who would whimper around and wait to be rescued. She'd just climb out the window. She'd just climb out the window and jump off the damn roof. And if she broke her leg, well, she had another one.

  She tossed back the covers and stood up. As soon as her feet hit the floor, the room tilted.

  It'll pass. Give yourself a minute to stabilize.

  There you go.

  That's the ticket.

  Things became a little less blurry, her legs a little less wobbly.

  She waded across the room and tested the door, just to be sure. Locked up tight.

  Through the door, she could hear the sound of running water.

  Now that she was moving around, her arm began to hurt, kind of a dull, deep ache.

  On the crate next to the bed were the narcotics the doctor had left. She hadn't wanted to take anything, but if she was going to be doing some heavy-duty escaping, she might need something to take the edge off.

  She picked up the bottle, struggled with the safety cap, shook two tablets into her palm,
tossed them back, and washed them down with a glass of water. She was swinging around to examine the escape hatch when the bedroom door opened wide.

  "Bath time."

  She couldn't have heard right. "You've got to be kidding."

  "While I'm waiting for you to tell me what the hell you were looking for, we may as well enjoy ourselves. You're going to take a bath, and then we're going to make love."

  She closed her gaping mouth. "Make love? You're using that word rather loosely, aren't you? I don't even like you."

  "That's okay. Doesn't really matter, does it? Let's just say sex then. We'll have sex. I was just trying to respect your sensibility, but I guess you don't have any."

  That comment didn't deserve acknowledgment. Anyway, she was more concerned with the sex thing. "Is that why you've been nursing me back to health?"

  He shrugged. "Good enough reason."

  "So we could have sex?" She was appalled. Completely, utterly appalled.

  Wasn't she?

  She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not taking a bath. Guess you'll just have to keep your distance. I've got quite a case of cooties, you know."

  He actually smiled at that. His eyes kind of sparkled, and one side of his mouth turned up.

  She continued to catalog her negative traits. "Is trench mouth contagious?"

  This time he laughed out loud.

  He apparently wasn't falling for her diseases. No need to mention rabies then.

  "You're a real brat," he said. "You know that?"

  Brat? "I've been called witty and sharp-tongued, but never a brat. In fact, I've been called—"

  She was still chattering when he crossed the room.

  Feeling threatened, she changed tactics. "Nobody tells me when to take a bath. Especially a caveman like you."

  "You don't even have enough sense to eat, so I figured you needed somebody to tell you when you need a bath."

  "Up yours."

  "What'd you say?" The question came out a surprised laugh.

  "You heard me. Up yours."

  Without comment, he scooped her into his arms.

  She squirmed. "Put me down!"

  When he didn't comply, she kicked her feet, a pitiful, limp-ankled, virgin in distress flutter-kick kind of thing.

  He carried her out the door, down the hall, and into the bathroom, all without smacking her head against the wall.

  Dark. That was the first thing she noticed. The second was all of the lit candles placed liberally around the room. Something told her this wasn't going to be one of your regular let's-get-you-clean-behind-the-ears kind of baths. He crossed to the claw-foot tub with its inviting curved back, and held her over it.

  Somebody squealed. And she was afraid it hadn't been Eddie. She grabbed at his arm. "Don't!"

  He lowered her into the tub, T-shirt, panties and all. She sank into the warm water, a scent of something like eucalyptus swirling around her.

  He straightened, water splotches on his shirt and pants.

  Good.

  "Try not to get those stitches very wet."

  Then he left.

  ~0~

  Smiling to himself, Eddie made his way downstairs and let the robin out of its cage. It immediately flew across the room to perch above the door, chirping for its supper.

  The bird had been around long enough for Eddie to get attached to it. Now it was ready to leave. That's how things had always been with Eddie. Everyone he knew and loved went away. Their lives moved on, while his remained unchanged.

  He opened a jar of bugs and pulled out a moth. The bird swooped down, landing on his shoulder, swallowing the bug whole. A few more insects and it was satisfied. Eddie slipped a finger under its feet and brought the bird around so he could look at it, petting its soft wings. "Yeah, you're becoming a real pain in the ass," he whispered, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice.

  He put the bird back in its cage, then set a bowl of dry dog food on the porch for Murphy, all the while keeping one ear trained for any sound coming from upstairs.

  Too quiet.

  He'd better check on her.

  What are you doing, Berlin? Holding a woman hostage. It was a little extreme, even for him.

  Not hostage. She'd broken into his house, for chrissake. He'd called a doctor. He'd fed her.

  Is that why you're nursing me back to health? For sex?

  Yes. And no.

  He didn't know what the hell he was doing. All he knew was that the woman he'd been fantasizing about was in his house, in his bed, in his bathtub.

  He hurried upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.

  Not a peep.

  He knocked again.

  She'd taken off. Made a run for it.

  He opened the door, practically falling in.

  She was still in the tub.

  Asleep.

  But before she'd fallen asleep, she'd been thoughtful enough to remove his T-shirt.

  Candles flickered, casting a seductive, quivering light.

  Her hair, hair that was normally wild and unruly, was wet and slick against her head. Her white skin looked like alabaster. Her breasts… God, her breasts. Perfect, round, pink-tipped nipples just above the darkness of the water, the rest of her body a hushed secret.

  He almost collapsed.

  Instead, he moved toward her, the scent of eucalyptus and soap filling his head.

  "Madison?" It was a soft whisper. A question. A plea.

  Standing next to the tub, never taking his eyes from her, he reached up and peeled off his T-shirt. "Madison?"

  He liked her name. He'd spent a lot of time trying to guess what her name might be and hadn't been able to come up with anything that seemed to suit her. Madison was perfect.

  He dropped to his knees.

  Her eyelids fluttered. Then she was looking at him with dark, slumberous eyes.

  "You." Her full lips barely moved. Her lids fluttered again, falling closed, the corners of her mouth turning up with just a hint of contentment.

  "Me."

  With her eyes closed, she brought up a hand, dragging her fingers across her bottom lip. Water trickled down her arm, running off her elbow, over the curve of her breast. "You." She ran a tongue across her mouth. "Inside me."

  He groaned.

  With her eyes still closed, she dropped a hand below the water's surface.

  To touch herself?

  "Take off your clothes," she whispered from the center of some erotic dream. "Hurry."

  He was out of his boots, socks, jeans, and boxers in record time, until he stood next to the tub, cool air caressing his nudity, heat pulsing through his veins.

  Her eyes came open. Her gaze moved from his face, to his chest, and down to his erection, and fixated there.

  For the first time, he thought he detected a little nervousness in her.

  She swallowed. "Come in the tub with me."

  "I don't think there's room."

  "We can fit."

  She straightened, exposing more of her sweet self to his gaze.

  He lowered himself into the tub so they were facing each other, her feet curled under his hips.

  "Trade with me," she said. "So I can be on top."

  He would do whatever she said, whatever she wanted.

  Somehow they shifted positions, wet bodies sliding against wet bodies, one of his hands splayed across her hip, the other gripping the curled edge of the tub until he was resting on his back, until she was straddling him.

  "Close your eyes," she commanded.

  He didn't. He couldn't.

  "Eddie…"

  That's when her fingers wrapped around him.

  He pulled in a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

  Her hand hesitated. Then he felt the heat of her body, leaning into him, felt her breath against his face, felt her lips brush his, felt a trembling run through her, heard her quickly in-drawn breath.

  Suddenly she drew away, and he felt a tidal wave of water. He felt the emptiness where Maddie had b
een. He heard her bare feet, slapping against the floor. He heard the door slam and the key turn in the lock.

  Damn.

  Chapter 15

  Bittersweet Me

  Maddie didn't stop to try and find her clothes. Instead, panties clinging to her bottom, she tugged the sodden T-shirt over her head, pulling the hem down to her thighs as she ran down the steps. Barefoot, she hurried through the kitchen and out into the darkness.

  Past the periphery of the house, she stumbled through the tangled overgrowth, finally coming to the curved packed dirt of the lane. She ran blindly into the night, her heart beating so wildly, her breathing so loud, that she couldn't hear whether or not she was being pursued.

  Two minutes later, she had to stop. Couldn't go any farther. Hands to her knees, doubled over, she fought to catch her breath.

  As her breathing slowed, she began to calm down. Enough to congratulate herself on a job well done. She put a hand to her mouth, smothering a laugh. She'd done it. She'd beaten him at his own game. And what a game it had been.

  Whew!

  For a while there, she'd almost forgotten it was a game. For a while there, she'd almost played it through to the end.

  ~0~

  As she walked, she reran the last scene with Eddie over and over in her mind. Eddie. God. There should be a law against guys like him. Here, he'd been holding her hostage, and she'd still almost done it with him. Again.

  Her car was where she'd left it. Had that been only twenty-four hours ago?

  Groping in the dark, she found the handle, opened the door, and slipped into the driver's seat. She reached for the ignition, and her heart sank in disbelief.

  No key.

  The keys had been in her pants.

  And her pants were back at the house.

  His house.

  She banged a fist against the steering wheel. Idiot!

  She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes.

  Now what? She could hardly walk to town the way she was. She had to go back.

  No.

  Yes.

  I can't. I'm so tired.

  She had to.

  Now. Do it now.

  He could still be locked in the bathroom. She might be able to get back, find her pants, find her keys, and get away.

  Good thing she hadn't taken up a life of crime. She was striking out all the way around. Go rob a bank, run outside, then remember you'd left your keys at the teller window. Whoopsie.