Читать книгу Rebel's Spirit - Susan Connell - Страница 9

Twenty minutes later Rebecca Barnett pushed open the door to the Chocolate Chip Café. Her gaze swept the interior of Follett River’s favorite college coffee house, before zeroing in on the busy blonde behind the counter. Just the person she came to see, Reb thought as she made her way through the sea of tables to the counter. Moving one of the tall chairs aside, she pressed her hands on the faux marble surface and leaned toward her friend on the other side.

“Raleigh Hanlon’s back in town.”

Megan Sloan scooped a dollop of frosting from the bowl next to the three-layer cake on the counter. As the pretty young widow carefully spread the liqueur-scented mixture over the top, she raised her brows.

“Surprised you, did he?”

“You could say that,” Rebecca said, sliding onto a cane-back chair as she shoved both sets of fingers through her damp hair.

“Reb, I tried calling you earlier to tell you, but I guess you haven’t hooked up your answering machine yet. Aren’t you concerned you’ll miss your business calls?” Megan asked as she swirled the spatula through the frosting.

“New Horizon Tours’ Miami office is more than capable of taking care of itself. That’s why I’m thinking about opening a branch up here.”

Megan Sloan checked the depth of frosting on the sides of the cake before finally looking up at her friend. Her green eyes widened. “Reb! Your hair!” she said, dropping the spatula into the bowl, then reaching for her friend’s hands. “What have you been up to?”

“Do you want the whole story or just the good parts?”

“The whole story, of course,” she said glancing at her watch. “And I bet it’s a Barnett classic, but unfortunately I barely have time for the good parts. Piece Of Cake got a last-minute catering job that I couldn’t pass up. So…?”

Nodding, Rebecca looked around to make certain no one was within earshot. No use blowing her new-andimproved image in front of a roomful of strangers, too. “I went skinny-dipping in Raleigh Hanlon’s pool…and he caught me.”

Megan choked back a scream. “Oh, Reb,” she said, pulling napkins from a dispenser then shoving them against her mouth. When her fit of laughter slowed, she dabbed at her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so glad you came back to Follett River. Things have been darn dull since you left.”

“Dull?” she asked, coming off the chair. “How could they possibly be dull with Raleigh Hanlon around?”

“Come on, it’s been ten years since you two bad those go-arounds. He’s not so bad. Maybe a tad grumpy at times for someone in his thirties, but honestly—”

“I’m not talking about his grumpy side. I’m talking about his, well…” Her words trailed off as she pictured the way he looked at her as he wrapped her in his jacket. When he pulled the wool tweed collar against her cheek the sensation was surprisingly pleasant. A slow smile lifted one side of her mouth. And for a moment, there, so were you, Raleigh Hanlon.

“Yes? His…?” Megan urged as she began sprinkling chopped hazelnuts over the cake.

“Never mind,” she said, easing her rear onto the seat again. The very rear she’d exposed to him on at least two different occasions. She took a deep breath then slowly exhaled at that last thought. “What’s he been doing for the past ten years?”

Megan kinked a brow. “Why this interest in your least favorite teacher all of a sudden?”

Rebecca picked up a few pieces of chopped hazelnuts with the pads of her fingers. “No reason,” she said before licking her fingertips and shrugging. “He’s my landlord. That’s all.”

“You never could lie to me,” her friend said in a singsong fashion.

“Meggie, give me a break here,” she said, dropping her shoulders. “For old times’ sake, just answer the question.”

“I’ve already told you. He’s a history professor at Follett College now. He’s working on his second book about ancient civilizations. I think this one’s about the Incas.”

“Megan Sloan,” Reb said in a tone reserved for misbehaving pets, bad drivers and best friends who weren’t getting the message. “I meant his private life.”

Megan reached for a container of chocolate-dipped hazelnuts and began circling the top of the cake with them. “You know he’s from over in Daleville. Well, about nineteen years ago his brother got a girl pregnant, then died before he could marry her. Mr. Hanlon’s been helping them out over the years. This niece, her name’s Penny, is all he has left since both his parents are dead. Lately Penny has been giving her mother fits.”

Rebecca tapped her nails on the faux marble as her friend went on about the girl’s troublesome adolescence.

“Megan, I know all about how difficult teenagers can be. I believe I was the poster child for that particular condition five years in a row. What I want to know about is his private private life.”

Setting aside the container, Megan rested her elbows on the counter and dropped her chin into the cups of her hands.

“Reb Barnett, what scandalous vengeance are you planning to wreak on poor old Professor Hanlon now?”

“Old? He’s not old, he’s—” What was she defending him for? He’d left her standing in his driveway with her hard-won image of a mature woman, not to mention a bath towel, around her ankles. None of her reactions had made any sense then, and they weren’t making any more sense now.

“Meggie,” she said quietly, rubbing her temples, “I’m trying to sort out a few things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know. He looked at me in an odd way.”

“Gee, you don’t think that had anything to do with him discovering you swimming naked in his pool, do you?”

Staring at the packages of gourmet coffees behind her friend, Rebecca absently ran her tongue over the edges of her teeth. “I think that was part of it.”

Megan pushed up from the counter. “You’re not joking, are you? Something’s going on between you two, isn’t it?”

Her friend’s last question sounded like an indisputable fact and a disturbing one at that. The idea of being attracted to her former teacher was still an outrageous one to her, too. Opening her hands and raising them palms up, she gave an exaggerated shrug. “Nothing is going on. I just saw the man for the first time in ten years and…”

“Sounds to me as if you just saw the man for the first time. What are you planning in that deliciously devious mind of yours?”

Rebecca gave a quick look around at the young college crowd hunched over their cappuccinos and caffé lattes before turning back to Megan. Scissoring her hands over the cake, she announced, “I have never thought of him in that way.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Megan said, in a deceptively demure voice. Lifting the cake, she placed the holiday dessert into a prefolded box then winked at her friend. “Because knowing you, you could have gotten him arrested.”

“Very funny,” she said, helping with the flapping box top. “I hope you don’t think I’m thinking of him in that way today…” The sound of her own nervous laughter made her wince. “I mean…that’s so…”

“Ah, Reb, you used to be so articulate when it came to Mr. Hanlon. Now you can’t seem to put together a complete sentence about the guy.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “Did I mention he’s divorced?”

“Divorced?” Reb repeated, unable to ignore how instantly hungry she was for more information. And how suddenly hesitant she was to ask for it.

“Four years ago, so I think we can safely say she’s out of the picture. But imagine what his wife would have said if she’d found you naked in—”

“Dear Lord, I never considered the possibility that he could be married,” she whispered.

“Really? Well, the important thing now is to think of him as available.”

Available? The idea that she would be romantically interested in Show-No-Mercy Hanlon wasn’t even funny. It was crazy.

“I swear, Meggie, that skinny-dip meant nothing more than a little secret revenge for all he put me through ten years ago. Now that I’ve seen him…now that he’s seen me, all I want to do is prove to him that I’ve changed. That I can handle myself in a mature fashion,” she said, her voice rising as she did from the stool. “That I’m not the self-indulgent, trouble-making heathen he once thought I was. That I’m dependable, presentable and charming as hell,” she said, whacking her hand on the countertop. “What are you smiling about?”

“You’re serious about that?”

“Damn straight,” she said, flicking back an errant lock of hair that had tumbled over her forehead.

“Great. Then you can start demonstrating all those admirable qualities to him tonight.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, kinking one brow.

“Raleigh Hanlon called me from Daleville this morning and asked if Piece Of Cake could cater desserts for a get-together at his place. I guess he’s been so busy with his niece he’d forgotten he’d agreed to host the faculty’s first holiday party. You’d be helping me out if you’d take this job. You see, I have umpteen calls to make for the reunion committee and I’d already promised Paige I’d teach her Chickadee group how to make pine cone Santas tonight.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You want me to serve cake to a bunch of professors?” Rebecca asked, picturing her usually glib tongue tied in self-conscious knots. The thought of so many graduate degrees under one roof was beyond intimidating when she thought of the simple high school diploma she almost didn’t receive.

“You’ll have the undying gratitude of my five-yearold.”

“Guilt can move mountains, Megan, but I don’t know…”

“Reb, just think, you’ll have the opportunity to impress Raleigh Hanlon…with all your clothes on this time.”

An hour later Rebecca stood at Raleigh Hanlon’s back door with his jacket around her shoulders. She was hugging a huge poinsettia plant to one hip and holding a shopping bag in her left hand. With her right she tinkered with the black bow tie her friend insisted had to be worn with the official Piece Of Cake caterer’s uniform. The slender grosgrain ribbon wrapping primly around the starched stand-up collar of the pleated tuxedo shirt was the last thing Raleigh Hanlon would expect to see her wearing. She looked down at the rest of the uniform. The red plaid cummerbund and black, pleated trousers actually looked kind of cute. Cute? She winced. She was about to walk into Show-No-Mercy Hanlon’s house looking cute. “Reb Barnett,” she whispered, as she knocked on the door a second time, “if the old gang could see you now.”

A second later the door opened and, without looking up, Raleigh was waving her in. He was speaking with considerable emotion into the telephone wedged between his shoulder and chin.

Rebecca remained on the doorstep taking in the details of the man who was totally absorbed in his conversation. His burgundy-and-blue tattersall shirt was rolled up at both wrists, exposing his Swiss Army watch and his handsomely muscled forearms. Unlike her miniature bow tie, his long navy blue one draped either side of his unbuttoned shirt framing a healthy amount of dark, crinkly chest hair. As if to counterpoint the vibrant signs of his masculinity, a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses were perched near the end of his nose. Biting back a smile, she thought about what fun she could have had with those glasses ten years ago.

“I can’t agree with you more, sweetheart,” he said as he glanced at the paper in his hands. “But, Penny, I don’t think your mother’s being unfair about your curfew. I—don’t hang up, young lady. Damn—!” He clicked off the phone and placed it firmly on the wall hook.

“Megan, I’m glad you’re here—” His harried expression changed to a blank one the moment he saw who it was. Hesitating, he strained for a look over Rebecca’s shoulder before refocusing on her uniform. “Is this one of your practical jokes?”

Jokes! Maybe this wasn’t her leather miniskirt and combat boots from ten years ago, but she wasn’t naked, either. Brushing back a lock of hair from her forehead, she swallowed hard and reminded herself that she was here to demonstrate the new and improved Rebecca Barnett. Nothing he could say would cause her to become unglued. Her gaze dropped to the opening of his shirt. As for that hairy chest of his…that might take considerably more restraint than she’d prepared for.

“I volunteered for this job when I found out Megan had made plans with her daughter,” she said, aware that that wasn’t exactly how she came to be standing on his doorstep. Lowering her gaze further down the front of him, she felt it melt into a genuine stare when she got to the dark whorl of hair above his navel. Blinking her way out of the hypnotizing sight, she made herself look at his face again. “I had to come back across town, anyway.”

Resting a fist on his hip, he lowered his chin to deliver a challenging stare over his reading glasses. “Is that so?”

She tapped her nails against the red-foiled flowerpot and narrowed her eyes. Her voice was suddenly stronger. “I live here. Remember?”

“And you’re working for Megan Sloan now?”

There it was again: that skeptical edge to his voice that said he wasn’t sure about any of this. That maybe there was more she wasn’t telling. And perhaps a trip to the principal’s office might be in order.

With a long-suffering sigh, she answered him. “Just for tonight. And you can stop sounding so concerned. I haven’t pebbled the cookies.”

He waited five thoughtful seconds before he appeared to succumb to the inevitable. Folding the sheet of paper he’d been holding, Raleigh slid it in his shirt pocket. The action managed to tug his shirt sideways, exposing a flat, dark nipple surrounded by another whorl of dark hair.

“Of course you haven’t pebbled the cookies, but Megan knows exactly how I like these things done. Not too formal—”

“She explained everything to me. So if you’ll get those desserts and the containers from the van,” she said, whipping his jacket from her shoulders and shoving it against his naked midsection, “I’ll get started.”

Closing a hand over the bunched tweed, he gave her a stiff nod. “Dining room’s through that door over there.”

Even though she’d managed to cover the tempting sight of his well-muscled, hair-roughened chest and abdomen, achy heat was already pooling between her thighs. Making an effort to appear unfazed, she breezed by him into the dining room.

“You are not going to get to me, Hanlon,” she murmured to herself as she plunked the poinsettia on the credenza and pulled a tablecloth out of the shopping bag. Giving the rectangle of white damask a snapping shake, she spread it over the table, then began smoothing it into place. “So what if you happen to have mankind’s most gorgeous chest and nipples that make my fingers itch? The idea of you and me ever…it’s…just impossible,” she said to herself in an angry whisper.

But as she kept picturing his exposed chest, her efficient moves to straighten the cloth slowed then stopped. Tilting her head, she stared at the white-on-white design in the tablecloth. The soft, lustrous swirls reminded her of the patterns in his chest hair. Tracing one swirl and then another with the pads of her thumbs, she began imagining the rougher texture of his hair, the heat of his skin below and the steady thumps of his heartbeat. When she realized she was holding her breath, she drummed both sets of fingers against the cloth and shook her head. She really had to start dating again now that her tour business was doing so well. Pushing up from the table, she reached for the potted red flowers and plunked them on the center.

With more determined effort, she went looking for dessert plates. While she was kneeling beside the opened credenza door, Raleigh came into the room.

“I put everything but this in the kitchen,” he said over the cake box. “Finding everything you need in there?”

“I think so,” she said, stopping to watch him settle a cake box on the table. In an unguarded moment he lifted the lid and leaned down for a quick sniff. Closing his eyes, he took a longer one. His obvious pleasure mesmerized her, then quickly made her blink. Of course, everyone had a sensual side, she’d just never thought about him having one.

Biting back a smile, she reached inside the credenza. “Megan said the dessert plates are supposed to be in here, but all I keep pulling out are these old photo albums.”

Raleigh dropped the lid over the cake, then quickly kneeled beside her. “I’ll take those,” he said, removing them from her grasp and setting them out of her reach.

Before she had time to lower her hands, he was ducking his head near her lap to peer inside the credenza. Her heart skipped a beat and then another. Minutes ago she wasn’t sure he was going to allow her into his house; now he’d positioned his face inches from the most intimate part of her anatomy. His clean male scent, mixed with his light, woodsy after-shave only added to the stunning immediacy of the moment. She held her breath as visions of them tangled together on the floor moved through her mind. In this position it would be so easy to sink her fingers into his hair and…

“Here we go.” Pushing aside a soup tureen, he pulled out two stacks of gold-rimmed, red dishes. “Twenty ought to do it.” Moving back on his heels, he set the dessert plates on top of the furniture then stood up.

“Well, thank you,” she said, forcing herself to stare at the albums on the floor while she waited for her heart to reestablish a normal rhythm. Before that medical miracle had time to happen he took her hands, still raised in midair above her thighs, and pulled her to her feet.

When he held on a few seconds longer than necessary, the courteous act began snowballing into something altogether different. She tried telling herself it was the casual way his unknotted tie slid over her hands that gave the moment its intimate feel. The sensation of fine quality wool on her skin reminded her of a caress. Gentle. Masculine. And, because it had been ages since she’d had a lover, leaving her wanting more. She looked up as he looked away.

“My cleaning lady stored those albums in there by mistake,” he said, still inexplicably holding on to her hands.

The oxygen in her body seemed to be disappearing-probably feeding those sparks zipping up her arms, through her heart, into her stomach and then, heaven help her, even lower. He looked back at her as she parted her lips to draw in an extra breath.

“Are you all right?” he asked, letting go of her hands to place his around her elbows.

“I’m fine…just stood up too fast,” she said, fighting the compelling desire to lean her cheek against his chest and her forehead against that tuft of hair where he still hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt!

“Back to work,” she announced, reaching for the first stack of plates with shaky hands. Why wasn’t he saying something? Or moving away? Or taking her in his arms and kissing her silly? She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she losing her mind? What had gotten into her? Tonight was her opportunity to show him she’d changed.

“Yes, back to work,” he finally said, as he leaned down to pick up the photo albums from the floor. “I have more notes to go over before people start arriving.”

“Don’t let me bother you.” She kept her eyes on the gold circle rimming the red plate in her hand as he walked into his library.

For the next twenty minutes she kept herself busy by folding napkins, preparing coffee, mixing the cranberry punch, setting out the dessert buffet and pretending that what she’d felt when he’d been so close was nothing more than a fluky moment of hormonal insanity.

After setting a pitcher of milk on the table next to a matching sugar bowl, she glanced across the hall into the library where Raleigh paced before the fire. He’d put on music, a Bach concerto, if she wasn’t mistaken. As he read through his paper, she found herself pressing her hand to her midsection. If what she’d felt was nothing more than one fluky moment of hormonal insanity, why were her hands still tingling? Her throat still dry? And that disturbing heat still pooling where it shouldn’t be? After all these years what was it about him that she suddenly found so compelling?

She walked across the carpeted hall to the open pocket doors of the library. Without a doubt he was an attractive man. Standing well over six feet, he was broad shouldered, classically handsome and, unlike most indoor career types, sporting a healthy tan. His thick, dark hair threatened to spill over his forehead in a little-boy tousle of loose curls.

As he braced a hand on the mantel and worried over his paper, she folded her arms, leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb and quietly sighed. Who the heck was she kidding? Raleigh Hanlon was the best-looking man she’d ever laid eyes on. And there he was, in his leather-bound, gold-stamped library, so absorbed in his professorial studies that he didn’t even sense her presence.

Angling her head into the room, she strained to take in his floor-to-ceiling, book-lined shelves, his leather wing chair with the worn spot where he rested his head, and his framed degrees and certificates filling half a wall. Masculinely appointed, impressively erudite and with a tried-and-true sense of permanency, the room appeared to be a perfect representation of the man standing in it. And just as awesome to her.

She nibbled on her lip as that unwelcome sense of inadequacy sent a cold tentacle to her stomach. Before the feeling took a stronger hold, she stood up and lifted her chin. Even if her poor high school performance had kept her out of college, over the last ten years, through hard work and pure determination, she had managed to achieve just about everything else she’d wanted in her life. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

“I set aside a piece of cake for you,” she impulsively announced.

Against the Bach playing in the background, her voice sounded like a carnival barker’s. She was certain Raleigh thought the same when he removed his glasses and looked up at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Or maybe that look was meant for something else? Had she splashed the cranberry punch on her clothes? Had they fallen off? What was wrong?

The crackling flames in the fireplace were the only sounds she heard above her pounding heartbeat. And then he smiled. That funny, forgiving kind of smile that said everything was all right. The kind of smile she’d never seen on Show-No-Mercy Hanlon.

“Which cake?” he asked.

“The one you were sniffing,” she said, relaxing enough to notice his shirt was finally buttoned and his tie knotted. “The hazelnut with the Frangelico frosting.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “You don’t miss much.”

She smiled back as she let her gaze wander the room again. This time the place didn’t feel as threatening. “Where’s your Christmas tree?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your Christmas tree? The ceramic angels on the mantel? The candles in the windows?” Pointing upward she added, “The mistletoe? Megan said this was the first holiday party of the season, but it’s hard to tell you’ve looked at the calendar.”

He looked around before giving her a halfhearted scowl. “Isn’t that poinsettia enough?”

She scowled back. “No,” she said and they both laughed. As the sound died he kept on looking at her. When she didn’t say anything, he slid on his reading glasses and lifted up his paper.

“That must be some interesting paper,” she said, grasping at the mundane comment because she was already missing the moment they’d shared.

He brushed a piece of lint from the top of his pant leg then looked at her again. “I’m sure you wouldn’t find it very interesting.”

She forced a smile to cover the raw sting of his words. Was it so obvious to him that she hadn’t furthered her formal education? “Maybe I would. Try me.”

“Have you studied the history of the Incas?”

“Well, not formally,” she said, raking her fingers through her hair. Why were her palms sweating? He wasn’t giving her a test on the subject, but if he were, she would probably pass the darn thing with flying colors.

“Not formally?” he repeated, motioning for her to come in and take the chair by the fire. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve read a bit on my own,” she said, wondering if she should tell him how many hours she’d studied preColumbian history before leading a tour group through the ruins at Machu Picchu and the archaeological dig site on the northwest coast of Peru. The last thing she wanted to do was sound as if she were bragging, or worse, defending herself.

Raleigh raised a brow as he watched her enter the room. “Amazing. When you were my student I practically had to glue a history book in your hands in order to get you to read it.”

“That’s a good ten years in the past.”

Slowing her steps and her words, she stopped at the sofa table. As she reached down to it, Raleigh remembered what he’d left there. The yearbook of her graduating class was lying wide open to the page with her photo.

Her gaze, accompanied by a slow grin, darted up to him then back down again. “But I guess history professors have been known to spend a little time poking around in the past.”

As she picked up the book, he turned away to check his watch. Fifteen minutes to eight. If he hadn’t spent time poring over Rebecca’s yearbook this afternoon he would have finished his work, he thought, going to his desk and dropping the paper into a drawer. But he had looked at the yearbook, and the rest of his day had been filled with thoughts about her. Thoughts leading to questions. Crazy questions that kept on coming when he pictured her naked in the pool, then standing beside him in that towel.

He looked over at her now, quietly smiling as she thumbed through the pages. She looked so…grown-up. He snorted softly. Maybe she was, but that didn’t stop the questions he’d been thinking about all afternoon.

What in hell made you pull those crazy stunts in high school? Was I too hard on you? Wasn’t I hard enough? How many hearts have you broken? What’s happened to you since then? hat’s happened to me? And when did you turn into such a beautiful woman?

“Raleigh, why did you have this opened to my—?” she began at the same moment the doorbell rang.

He looked at her expectant expression as the doorbell sounded again, along with the telephone. The outward composure he’d been perfecting for the past eighteen years clicked into place.

“Would you mind getting the door and showing whoever it is into the library?” he asked, as he walked past her into the dining room. Picking up the plate of sliced cake she’d left for him, he added, “I’ll take the phone in the kitchen.”

Five minutes later Raleigh hung up. As Penny had railed on with her latest litany of teenage complaints, he’d found that his thoughts had kept wandering back to Rebecca. She’d been Penny’s age when she was his student. He shook his head. Penny’s age, for godsake.

Taking his jacket from where he’d tossed it, he remembered the way Rebecca had looked in it. Even though the salt-and-pepper tweed was sizes too big for her, he couldn’t say she looked exactly childlike wearing it that afternoon. And when she’d bent down to catch her towel…The distinct tugging sensation in his manhood had him swallowing dry. He quickly shrugged on the jacket then straightened his tie. He had guests waiting.

Picking up the cake she’d sliced for him, he dragged two fingers through the frosting, then plunged them into his mouth to lick them clean. Laughing at himself for the outlandish thoughts he’d been having about Rebecca, he lifted the whole slice from the plate and took a bite.

She’d once been capable of getting under his skin, but that was strictly sophomoric and a long time ago. She wouldn’t be doing that again; he wouldn’t let her. Shoving another bite into his mouth, he closed his eyes and savored the delicate flavor. Hell, he must have been crazy there for a few hours. He was years older than Rebecca, and, just as important, she was years younger than him. Coupled with their history, anything remotely…adult was laughable.

As he reached to open the dining room door, Rebecca opened it from the other side. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was slightly mussed and her high spirits a nearly tangible force. The beguiling sight almost made him forget his reassessment.

“Who rang the bell?” he asked, as she quickly closed the door behind her then leaned against it.

“Dean Callahan,” she said, before covering her mouth to stop a burst of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

She pressed her hands against her bright plaid cummerbund and leaned forward to catch her breath. “Oh, Raleigh, I always thought professors were so stuffy, but that one’s not. He wouldn’t stop asking me questions about myself. I tried to explain that I was only here catering your desserts and he said, ‘Well, I never heard it referred to as that before.” ‘ Shaking her finger at him, she widened her eyes. “Your Dean Callahan is a very naughty man.”

“Naughty?” He smiled at the thought that the whitehaired gentleman could ever be considered naughty.

“Yes. Don’t you get it?” she asked with an exaggerated wink.

“Don’t I get what?” He felt his smile weakening while he silently prayed that the gods were with him tonight and what he was beginning to suspect was way off the mark.

She took a step toward him. “Oh, Raleigh, look at you,” she said, changing subject and tone as she reached up to cup his jawline in her hands. “You have frosting smeared here…and here.” Dabbing at the sides of his mouth with her thumbs, she squinted at him. “Look. Go like this.”

Her helpful gesture almost made it into the casual category until she puckered her lips. His breath caught somewhere north of his chest. Hadn’t he just convinced himself how ridiculous this illogical attraction he had for her was? Hadn’t he told himself to get a grip? And didn’t she have the softest hands and most engaging expressions?

He closed his hand around one of hers causing her fingertips to stray past his lips. Once. Twice. With her breasts brushing his chest, her gentle yet relentless thumb strokes and the liqueur-laced frosting teasing his tongue, he had all he could do not to lick her. Then her thumbnail grazed the underside of his lip, and her kind act began bordering on a kinky one. Taking a step over the line of common sense, he bypassed warm, fuzzy confusion and headed straight for the Pandora’s box of heat and lust. Curving a hand around her waist, he tugged her against his hips. “Rebecca,” he whispered. Then the doorbell rang again and both of them froze.

Crashing back to reality, Raleigh found himself staring into her eyes. He knew his boundaries; he’d set them up a long time ago. “You were saying something about Dean Callahan?” he asked, as he let go and took a step backward.

She gave him a puzzled look that, after a few nervejangling seconds, transformed itself into a focused, knowing smile. “He thinks I’m your latest.”

“Latest what?” he asked as the doorbell rang again. He laughed out loud; this couldn’t be happening. Where was a lesser god when you needed one?

“Lover.” She cocked her head when he didn’t respond. “Did you hear me? I said he thinks we’re lovers.”

“I heard you.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing anymore?”

He started around her. “Miss Barnett, I have to get the door—”

Her arm shot out, effectively blocking his way as she slapped her hand against the door frame. “And whatever happened to you calling me Reb? I thought we’d come so far, but—”

“Obviously, we haven’t,” he said, wondering why the hell he’d allowed her to put her hands on him in the first place.

“We haven’t?” she asked, her head turning and her eyes twinkling with womanly mischief.

From the other side of the door, Dean Callahan called out cheerfully, “I’ll get that.”

“Miss Barnett, that will be all for tonight.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

“Go,” he said, then cocked his chin when she hesitated. As she walked around him and headed for the back door, his gaze tracked her like radar on enemy aircraft. He felt his body quickening to alert status when she paused with her hand on the knob. Looking over her shoulder at him, she made a new and old and needy ache start up in his heart.

“Raleigh?”

“Yes?”

She touched a fingertip to her lips. “You still have some…”

His hand began drifting up toward his mouth before he came to his senses and, instead, pointed at her. “Out! Now!” he said, managing to hold his ground even though the floor beneath him felt like quicksand when she grinned.

“Just like old times…Mr. Hanlon.”

Her voice echoed through him, soft and sexy, sure and seductive. As she closed the door behind her, he slowly pressed his fingers to where hers had been. After a moment he shook his head and headed for the dining room. “Old times were never like this, Rebecca.”