“You’re very chatty all of a sudden, aren’t you?” she muttered.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She felt the heat rise in her face. Damn. “I don’t owe you any answers.”
“Ah. So you did try to match yourself. I had a hunch you might have done it. Who could resist? There you were with your program and all those potential dates. What happened? No good candidates on your list of clients? Hard to believe.”
“I told you,” she whispered, “the program is not foolproof.”
“Maybe not, but it’s got a very high degree of accuracy. You assured me of that when I signed on. What went wrong? Didn’t like the matches it selected for you?”
She put out her hand and closed her fingers around the doorknob. “Take me home, Gabe.”
“Or did you lose your nerve? It’s one thing to use intuition and the results of a questionnaire to help other people make a decision that will affect them for a lifetime.” He turned her slowly around to face him. “It’s another thing altogether to use them to make a choice that will affect your own life.”
“Gabe—”
“Maybe your mistake was in looking too far ahead,” he said softly. “Hell, maybe I was making the same mistake. Maybe we should both stop obsessing on the long term and focus more on the short term.”
She swallowed. “How short a term are we talking about here?”
“Let’s start with tonight.” He kissed her throat. “We’ll reassess matters in the morning.”
She stiffened. “I don’t do one-night time frames.”
“There you go, trying to think too far ahead again.”
“Goading me will not work,” she said. “I do not respond to taunts or dares.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re a Harte.” He leaned his forehead against hers. His thumb moved along the line of her jaw. “What will work?”
She took a deep breath, inhaled some of the dancing storm energy that swirled around them and used it to fortify herself.
“You have to admit that you cheated on the Private Arrangements questionnaire,” she said.
“What the hell does that damned questionnaire have to do with what’s happening between us?”
“I ran the one you filled out through my program. Compared it with one that I had filled out on myself. If you were completely honest in all your responses on that form, I have to tell you that we are definitely not a good match, Gabe. Not even in the short term.”
For the space of two or three heartbeats, he went utterly motionless.
“And if I did shade some of the answers?” he asked.
“Then the conclusions were invalid, of course.”
He smiled slowly. “I lied through my teeth on most of them.”
She touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip. “Honest?”
“I swear it on my honor as a Madison,” he said against her mouth.
“I knew it.” Satisfaction unfurled within her. She put both arms around his neck. “I was sure of it. Even the one about—?”
His mouth closed on hers before she could finish the question. He kissed her, long and hard and deep; so deep that she forgot everything else.
The colors of the rainbow that surrounded her grew brighter, becoming almost painfully intense. She had to close her eyes against the shattering brilliance.
She kissed Gabe back, full on his warm, hard, incredibly sexy mouth. She gave it everything she had, moving into the moment the way she did when she was painting all out; flying with the vision, trying to get it down on the canvas before it evaporated.
Rain pounded on the roof of the cottage. Wind lashed at the windows. Electricity arced in the atmosphere. The night was alive and so was she.
She was vaguely aware of the rain cloak sliding off her shoulders. And then she realized that her feet no longer touched the floor. Gabe had picked her up in his arms.
She turned her face against his chest, savoring the scent of his body and the strength of his arms. She spread the fingers of one hand across the expanse of his chest. Beneath the fabric of his pullover, he was hard and sleek.
He carried her into the cottage’s tiny bedroom and tumbled her down onto the old-fashioned four-poster. Her shoes thudded softly on the old rug. He straightened, peeled off his pullover in a single, sweeping motion and tossed it carelessly aside. It caught on a bedpost.
He never took his eyes off her as he stripped off his trousers and briefs. His hands were quick and ruthlessly efficient. The sight of his heavily aroused body elicited an immediate reaction far inside her. She was suddenly aware of a liquid heat pooling in her lower body.
He paused long enough to open a drawer in the nightstand. She heard foil tear in the darkness.
And then he was on the quilt with her, looming over her, caging her between his arms. The ancient bed squeaked beneath his weight. If she had tried to sketch him at that moment, she knew the result would have been a picture composed of dark light, strong shadows, and fathomless pools of mystery.
He tugged the tunic off over her head. Unfastened the satin bra. Excitement sent another flood of brilliant colors through her when he touched her breasts. She could hardly breathe. All of her senses sharpened and focused.
Gabe slid one leg between her thighs. He shifted his mouth back to hers in a heavy, drugging kiss.
She gripped his shoulders, digging her fingers into his bare skin. His hard body cut off what little light came through the doorway from the main room. She could hear the storm swirling outside the cottage, weaving a magic force field that held the rest of the world at bay. At least for now.
His hands moved on her again. Her trousers disappeared. They were soon followed by her panties.
He moved his hand across her stomach and down to the place where she was hot and wet and full. He stroked her as if he were now the painter, applying colors with lavish passion and precision. Getting into his art.
She wanted to tell him to slow down. She needed time to adjust to this unfamiliar level of raw, physical sensation; time to savor the sweep and nuance of the hues of this amazing rainbow.
But time was out of her control, along with everything else tonight. When he found her again with his fingers, she screamed. It was too much.
Her body clenched violently. The rainbow pulsed. Neon brights, effervescent blues and glorious, eye-searing reds filled the shadows with light. She could not think; could not sort out impressions or emotions.
He surged into her at that moment, spilling a whole new palette across the canvas. These were the mysterious, unnamable hues that she had seen only in her dreams.
She felt the rigid tension in the muscles and bone beneath his skin and knew that he was no longer in control either. His release crashed through both of them.
The first thing she noticed when she awoke a long time later was that she could not move. Gabe had her pinned to the bed with one heavy arm wrapped around her midsection and a muscular leg thrown across her thigh.
The second thing she became aware of was that the storm winds had died down. She could still hear gentle rain on the roof, and the darkness on the other side of the window remained immutable. But the world outside was a much quieter, calmer place than it had been earlier.
She lay still, partly because she knew that if she tried to move she would awaken Gabe and she was not at all certain she wanted to do that. Not yet, at any rate. She had things to think about and she needed to think without distractions.
Now that the chaos of passion had resolved itself, the first thing she ought to do was take a cold, hard look at what had happened between herself and Gabe. Life had suddenly become extremely complicated.
But she could not bring herself to focus just yet on her new problems. First she would allow herself the pleasure of absorbing the myriad impressions she had not been able to catalog and enjoy in the heat and turmoil of what had happened earlier. She was entitled.
Memories and impressions stirred her senses. Sex with Gabe had been as
disorienting, thrilling, and ultimately as disturbing as that flash of recognition that sometimes struck while she was in the process of trying to translate a vision onto a canvas. In those rare moments of acute awareness she could see the whole picture in her mind. But the images came so swiftly, so relentlessly, that it was impossible to paint fast enough to keep up with them. She had learned to concentrate on the critical elements, the core of the vision, knowing that she could go back later to fill in the less essential parts.
Now she tried to do just that, calling up the little details that she had missed during the passionate encounter. The way his fingers had closed around her thigh. The way his teeth had grazed a nipple. The way his tongue—
“You awake?” Gabe asked.
“Yes.”
He shifted a little, settling her more comfortably into the curve of his body. “What are you thinking about?”
She smiled into the pillow and said nothing.
He nibbled gently on her shoulder. “Tell me.”
“I was just wondering why you lied on the Private Arrangements questionnaire.”
“Can’t let it go, can you?”
“Nope.”
“Going to throw it in my face again and again, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, why do you think I lied?”
She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at him, trying to read his expression in the shadows. Impossible. “I think you fiddled with the responses because subconsciously you didn’t want me to find you a perfect match. You set things up so that failure was the only option.”
“Huh. Why the hell would I do that after paying you all that money for some good matches?”
She put her hand on his bare chest. “Probably because, when crunch time came, your Madison genes just couldn’t tolerate the idea of applying such a sensible, logical, rational approach to an intimate relationship with a woman.”
“Screwed by my genetic predisposition to do things the hard way, you think?”
She drew her fingertips through the crisp, curling hair. “Madisons are known for doing things the hard way.”
“True.” He stroked the curve of her head. “There’s just one point I want to make before we get up in a few hours and fix breakfast.”
“And your point is?”
“Tonight does not qualify as my sixth date.”
For an instant, she did not understand. Then the meaning of his words shot through her brain, charring the semi–dream state she had been enjoying.
She sat bolt upright. His arm slid down to her hips. Aware that she was nude, she grabbed the sheets and held them to her breasts.
“I’ve got news for you,” she said, “we had dinner and sex. If that doesn’t qualify as a date in your book, I’d like to know what does. It’s certainly a heck of a lot more than any of my other dates have involved in a very long time.”
“You came over here tonight because you felt sorry for me, remember? Being neighborly doesn’t qualify as a date.”
Anger, pain, and outrage slammed through her without warning. She found herself teetering on an invisible emotional cliff that she had not even noticed a few seconds ago.
“I certainly didn’t sleep with you just to jolly you out of your brooding mood.”
“It worked, though.” He closed his palm around her hip, squeezing gently. “I’m feeling a lot more cheerful than I did earlier.”
“Damn it, Gabe, don’t you dare imply that having sex was no different than . . . than playing gin rummy together. One is a game. The other is not.”
There was a short silence. Was he actually having to think about her comment? She went cold. Maybe he didn’t believe that there was any major difference between sex and gin rummy. Maybe to him they both ranked as nothing more than casual pastimes.
Maybe she had been a complete fool.
“One is a game, the other is not,” Gabe repeated very deliberately. “This is a test, right?”
“Yes,” she said through her teeth. “And if you get it wrong, you’re a doomed man.”
“Okay, okay, just give me a minute.” He sounded as serious and intent as a game show contestant who had a hundred thousand dollars riding on the outcome. “One is a game. The other is not. One is a game. The other—”
“Gabe, so help me—”
“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”
There was an odd ringing in her ears now. Surely she could not have been dumb enough to go to bed with a man who treated sex as entertainment for a rainy night in a small town where there was very little in the way of nightlife. She could not have misjudged Gabe Madison so badly. She was a professional matchmaker, for heaven’s sake.
He moved his warm palm up over her hip, along the curve of her waist, and pulled her down across his chest. One of her legs lodged between his thighs. She felt a familiar pressure and knew that he was getting hard again.
He cupped her buttock in one hand. “I’m ready.”
The sensual laughter in his voice jolted her back to reality. He was teasing her. She was overreacting. Time to get a grip. Act mature and sophisticated.
With an act of will she forced herself to step back from the invisible emotional precipice. Her ears stopped ringing. She took a deep breath and managed a cool smile.
“I’m waiting for your answer,” she said.
“Gin rummy is the game, right?”
“Congratulations. Right answer.”
He slipped his fingertips along the rim of the cleavage that divided her derrière. Without warning, he rolled her onto her back and came down on top of her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered.
“Collecting my prize.”
A long time later she stirred again and leaned over him.
“You know,” she said, “there was another reason I decided to stay tonight.”
He smiled in the darkness. His hand moved in her hair.
“What was that?” he asked.
“I was curious to see what you do with the peanut butter.”
“I’ll show you.”
“Now?”
“This is as good a time as any. I seem to have worked up an appetite.”
chapter 8
The sound of a heavy engine lumbering down the drive toward the house woke him. He opened his eyes. The gray light of a rainy morning illuminated the window. Beside him, Lillian did not stir.
What he wanted most in the world at that moment, he thought, was to stay right where he was with Lillian’s beautifully curved bottom nestled against his midsection. But the rumble outside made that a non-option.
With deep regret, he eased himself cautiously away from her warmth. She wriggled a little, as though in protest. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. She sighed and snuggled deeper into the pillow.
He studied her as he rose and reached for his pants. She looked very good lying there in his bed. Like she belonged there.
Outside the large vehicle had come to a halt. The motor shut down.
He made himself go out into the hall, pausing long enough to close the bedroom door firmly. Then he went into the main room.
He glanced around quickly on his way to the front door, checking to see if there was any evidence of Lillian’s presence. A glimmering pool filled with shifting lights on the floor caught his eye. He scooped up the iridescent rain cloak and crammed it into the hall closet.
By the time he got the front door open and saw the familiar SUV hulking in the drive, his grandfather was already on the porch.
“What the hell is going on here,” Mitchell roared. He thumped his cane on the boards for emphasis. “Just what are you up to, Gabe Madison?”
Damn.
Gabe reassessed the situation quickly. Lillian had walked to his place. Her car was not in the drive. Mitchell could not possibly know that she had spent the night here.
Could he?
Small towns had some serious drawbacks when it came to privacy issues.
When
in doubt, stall.
“Good morning to you, too,” he said easily. “When did you get back into town?”
“Last night. Late.”
“Where’s Bev?”
Bev Bolton, the widow of a former editor of the Eclipse Bay Journal, was the woman Mitchell had been seeing for several months She had accompanied him to Hawaii. Bev lived in Portland. Mitchell had been so discreet about the relationship that for several extremely uneasy weeks Gabe and Rafe had both feared that his frequent trips to the city had been for the purpose of seeing a specialist. They had leaped to the conclusion that he was suffering from some dire medical condition that he was trying to keep from them. The truth had come as an enormous, if somewhat startling, relief.
“Bev went on down to California to visit her grandkids,” Mitchell said. “Now tell me what’s happening here.”
“Not much.” He yawned and absently rubbed his chest. It was cold out here. Should have grabbed a shirt out of the closet. “Been raining a lot.”
“Don’t try to change the topic. This is me, your grandfather, you’re talking to. I had coffee in town at the bakery. Must have been at least half a dozen folks who couldn’t wait to tell me that Marilyn Thornley’s car was seen turning into your driveway last night around suppertime.”
Gabe drew a slow, deep breath. Relief replaced some of the tension that had tightened every muscle in his belly. Mitchell didn’t know about Lillian. He was here because of Marilyn’s car.
“Well, it’s gone now, isn’t it?” Gabe said.
He moved farther out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. Rain dripped steadily from the edge of the porch roof. The temperature had to be in the very low fifties. Maybe the high forties. He tried to ignore the chill. How long did it take to contract a case of hypothermia?
He’d just have to tough it out. He could not risk going back inside to get more clothes. Mitchell would follow him into the hall and the commotion would awaken Lillian. She would probably come out of the bedroom to see what was going on and all hell would break loose. A real doomsday scenario, if ever there was one.
He needed to think and he needed to do it fast.
Priorities, priorities.