Beauty and the Wolf (7 page)

“Where are you parked?” He frowned at the wet ground.

“Just over there.” Frankie pointed at her car, just beyond the big dual-wheeled white pickup.

Eli took her elbow, scanning the ground between the steps and her car before walking beside her. “You're not wearing the right kind of boots for this weather. I'll get you a pair of rubber mud boots to keep in your car.”

Frankie felt inordinately pleased that he seemed to expect her to visit again. “That would be nice,” she murmured.

They reached her BMW, and he pulled open the door.

“How long do you think you'll have to stay at the cocktail party tonight?” he asked, leaning on the open door to look down at her as she turned the ignition key.

“Not too long, I hope,” she told him. “I'm planning to slip out as soon as possible and head home. It's been a long week—I think I'll curl up in front of the TV and watch something mindless.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like a good plan. Drive carefully.” He stood back, closing the door with a quiet thunk.

As Frankie negotiated the bumps and puddles of the
lot and turned onto the smoothly paved street, she could see Eli in the rearview mirror. He stood, hands thrust in jeans pockets, the sun glinting off his black hair, watching her drive away.

She'd been looking forward to seeing him this evening, and having to cancel their dinner date made the prospect of the boring cocktail party seem even more dull.

She turned a corner and could no longer see Eli nor the construction site.

No doubt about it, she thought with a sigh. She was much more interested in spending an evening with Eli than schmoozing at a cocktail party with her boss and coworkers.

Apparently, she wasn't immune to the lure of a tall, dark and handsome man. Especially not when the man was Eli.

 

Eli watched Frankie's car disappear into traffic before he turned and reentered the work trailer.

“Pretty woman, Eli. Where'd you meet her?” Connor asked.

“Does she have a sister?” Matt asked, grinning when Eli shot him a quick glare as he crossed to the kitchenette and poured a mug of coffee.

“Yes, she has sisters, and no, I'm not going to introduce you,” Eli said as Matt's eyes lit with interest. “And I've known her since she was just a kid.”

“Yeah?” Ethan frowned at him. “I don't remember a girl named Frankie.”

“Francesca Fairchild—she's Justin's cousin.”

“I still don't remember her,” Connor said.

“She must be Cornelia Fairchild's daughter,” Jack said with a decisive nod. “Cornelia's the widow of Harry Hunt's original partner—I heard the families stayed close after Cornelia's husband died, and the girls consider Harry their uncle and his boys their cousins.”

“That's right.” Eli carried his mug to the drafting table and set it on the ledge above the blueprints. “Frankie's closer to Justin than any of his brothers. I met her through Justin when she was still in grade school.”

“Was she gorgeous in grade school, too?” Matt asked.

“She's always been pretty,” Eli answered shortly. He leveled a lethal glare at Matt. “And she's off-limits.”

“Whoa.” Matt took a step back, lifting his hands in mock defense, palms out. “Sorry, big brother. Didn't know you'd already staked a claim.”

Ethan laughed, Jack's chuckle joining him.

“You must be blind, Matt,” Connor said. “Nobody could have missed that whole she's-mine-touch-her-you-die thing Eli had going on a few minutes ago.”

Matt's deep laugh joined the other three, and Eli threw them a disgusted glare.

“Can we move past this and get back to work?”

“Sure,” Matt said, his eyes twinkling as he clapped Eli on the shoulder. “It's nice to see you getting irritated with us over a woman, Eli. Must mean you're finally recovered from the accident and back to normal.”

Eli growled a noncommittal response, and the conversation returned to finding a solution for a glitch in the design of the second-floor balcony supports.

Later, when his brothers and Jack left the trailer and he was alone, Eli's thoughts returned to Frankie.

Where the hell had that surge of possessiveness come from when she'd stepped into the trailer and met his brothers? The Wolf men had hammered out an unwritten rule while in their teens—none of them ever poached each other's dates. He had no reason to worry that Matt, Ethan or Connor would do more than flirt harmlessly with Frankie as long as he was dating her.

He'd never before felt the urge to threaten his brothers over a woman. So, why now—and why Frankie?

“The protective thing must be left over from Justin and me vetting her boyfriends when she was a teenager,” he muttered aloud, frowning unseeingly at the drawings taped on the wall.

Of course that was it, he thought with relief. He'd known Frankie a long time—it was only natural he'd feel protective. No doubt if he'd had a sister, he'd feel the same way.

A small voice in his head uttered a loud
hah!

Eli ignored it, grabbed his hardhat and left the trailer to purposely stay busy so he wouldn't have time to ponder all the reasons why he might feel so strongly about Frankie and other men.

Even if the other men were his brothers.

Even if he knew she was perfectly safe with them.

It was going to be a long afternoon, he thought with resignation.

 

It was nearly seven o'clock before Frankie reached home that evening. The afternoon sunshine had given way to dark skies and sheets of rain that drenched her as she ran from her car. She shrugged out of her raincoat, hanging it on a hook beside the door, then toed off her wet pumps the moment she closed and locked the condo door behind her. Bending to pick them up, she walked in damp-stockinged feet into her bedroom. She dropped her purse and leather briefcase onto the bed, set her shoes next to the floor heat vent and stripped off her jacket, blouse, skirt and hose.

She flipped on lights as she went, turning on the shower and letting it run to heat up the space while she shed bra and panties, dropping them into the hamper before she stepped into the shower.

The water pulsed against her skin, and she turned her face into the spray, relishing its heat for several moments before she shampooed and scrubbed.

She felt a thousand times better when she left the bathroom. She'd towel-dried her hair then run a brush through the tangles until it lay sleek and smooth before donning a clean black bra, panties and gray University of Washington sweatpants. She drew on a matching gray UW hoodie, zipping the front closed to a few inches below her collarbones.

Her stomach growled as she walked barefoot into
the living room, pausing to switch on the television to a cable twenty-four-hour news channel before heading for the kitchen. She shifted items on the refrigerator shelves, but nothing appealed. She was just contemplating calling a local Chinese restaurant to order delivery when the doorbell rang.

Sighing, she padded out of the kitchen, across the living room to the tiny entryway.
I bet it's Mrs. Ankiewicz,
she thought. Her eighty-year-old neighbor often dropped in on a Friday evening if Frankie was home. Much as she adored the feisty old lady and enjoyed their conversations, however, she was more interested in food at the moment.

One glance through her front door's small glass viewer, however, had Frankie catching her breath.

Eli stood in the hall outside.

The sense of disappointment she'd felt since leaving him at the work site lifted, instantly replaced by a surge of delight.

Oh, no!
Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. She leaned her forehead against the solid wood door panel, nearly groaning in disbelief.

What happened to her determination not to give in to her attraction to him? She knew he was dangerous for her heart—she did
not
want to take any of this too seriously.

She lifted her head, narrowing her eyes at her reflection in the mirror.

We're just two people conspiring to teach Uncle Harry a lesson, she told her reflection sternly. Eli isn't
really interested in me—I'm not his girlfriend and he's not my boyfriend.

Not really. She repeated the words in her mind but she couldn't ignore the mirror's reflection of the anticipation that flushed her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes.

She turned away from the mirror and its too-revealing image, drawing a deep breath and straightening her lips in an attempt to erase the smile.

Then she pulled open the door.

“H
i.” Unfortunately, she suspected her expression told him exactly how happy she was to see him, but she couldn't bring herself to care. “I wasn't expecting you tonight.”

“I thought you might be hungry, so I picked up a pizza—unless the food at the party was good…?” He lifted a square box in one hand; his other held a six-pack of imported beer.

“The food was awful, actually. Come in.” She caught his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door to lead him to the kitchen. “You're drenched. It must be raining harder than it was when I came home.” She drew in a deep breath when he set the pizza box down on the table and lifted the top. “That smells like heaven.” With perfect timing, her stomach let out a low rumble.

“I'm guessing that means you
are
hungry?” A smile curved his lips as he shrugged out of his damp jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He wore faded, well-worn jeans and a light blue polo shirt, the fabric stretching snugly over the hard, defined muscles of chest and thighs.

“That means I'm starving!” She laughed and opened cabinet doors to take out plates. “Why don't you take off your boots and set them on the floor grate over there.”

She pointed at the scrollwork vent under the window.

“I use the vents for my shoes all the time—works like a charm.”

Eli nodded and pulled off his boots, padding in stockinged feet to set them on the grate.

“Will you grab some napkins out of the drawer next to the sink?” Frankie plied a wheeled cutter with quick efficiency, cutting the pizza into slices.

They carried loaded plates and napkins into the living room, Eli balancing two bottles of beer and a single glass for Frankie.

“Are you sure you don't want a glass?” she asked, curling one leg beneath her as she sat on the sofa, balancing her plate on her lap.

“Positive.” Eli set his plate on the coffee table while he removed bottle caps, pouring a glass for Frankie and setting it on the lamp table next to her at the end of the sofa. “Real men drink beer straight from the bottle.”

Frankie rolled her eyes at him. “I'll let that pass,” she said magnanimously. “I'm feeling kindly toward you
since you knocked on my door bearing edible gifts.” She lifted her slice of pizza. “Mmm.”

Moments passed while they concentrated on their pizza.

“So, how boring was the cocktail party?” Eli asked after he'd finished his first slice.

“Deadly.”

“That bad, huh?”

Frankie pursed her lips, considering. “On the scale of really bad, it was somewhere between the torture of sitting through an hour lecture on the conception process of boll weevils and the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Whoa.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I'm not even going to tell you about the most boring work party I was ever forced to attend. You win.”

She smiled sunnily, the last remnants of weary annoyance from a long day fading away. “Sometimes parties at work aren't boring—I think this one wasn't enjoyable because it was last-minute on a Friday night. Plus I was annoyed that it forced me to change our plans.”

“I know what you mean.” He nodded and picked up another pizza slice. They ate in companionable silence.

Frankie finished her second piece with a sigh of contentment, set her plate on the coffee table and picked up the remote.

“Is there anything you want to watch?”

“ESPN.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxed. “I brought you pizza—and there's a Knicks game on tonight.”

“How about a compromise? I won't make you watch a chick flick if you don't make me watch a ball game.”

He tipped his bottle and eyed her over the rim. “How about a guy movie?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What, exactly, are we talking about here?”

“Cruise through the channel listings and I'll show you.”

“Okay.” Frankie thumbed the remote and brought up the channel log. “See anything interesting?”

They finally settled on an action film starring Will Smith.

As the opening credits began to roll, rain hammered against the windows outside. January in Seattle often brought winter storms roaring in off the Pacific to pound the city with wind and rain. Tonight was clearly no exception.

Inside, Frankie curled her legs under her. Eli stretched his long legs out in front of him, propping his feet on the coffee table, ankles crossed.

The wind whistled around the corner of the building. Frankie looked at the windows, where the shadowy shapes of tree branches, tossing in the wind, were visible in the faint glow from streetlights.

“Brr.” She shivered, clutching a throw pillow against her middle. “I'm glad we're not at Harry's. We'd have to drive home in this.”

“It's nasty out there,” Eli agreed. He looked sideways
at her. “Come here.” He reached out and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, toppling her sideways against him. Her head rested on his shoulder, his arm cradling her. Startled, she twisted to look up at him, but he gently pushed her head back down on his shoulder. “This is more comfortable,” he told her before pointing at the screen. “Shh, the movie's starting.”

He's right,
Frankie thought as she wriggled slightly and stretched out her legs on the sofa cushions.
This is very comfortable.
His chest was warm and solid against her side, his arm draped around her enclosed her in a warm cocoon of male heat and his shoulder was the perfect cushion for her head.

“You still have freckles,” he murmured a few moments later, trailing a fingertip over the bridge of her nose.

She tilted her head back to look up and found him watching her instead of the television screen. “You noticed I had freckles?” she asked, surprised.

“Of course.” He looked faintly insulted. “You were a cute little kid with a little spray of freckles just over your nose and your cheekbones.”

His head lowered, and he brushed soft, tasting kisses over her face, following the arch of her cheekbone. Frankie's breath caught.

“I've wanted to do that for a while,” he murmured as he drew back a few inches.

“Have you?” she whispered. His thick, dark lashes were half lowered as he cupped her chin in his palm and stroked his thumb over her cheek. She shivered.
The faintly rough pad of his thumb moved against her sensitive skin, stirring heat in her midsection. His lashes lifted, his gaze leaving her mouth and lifting to meet hers. Desire, hot and alive, lit his eyes. Her skin warmed, flushing under his stare.

“Eli, I don't want to mistake what's happening here.” Her voice was a soft murmur. “We agreed to pretend we're attracted to each other to fool Harry—but at the moment, he's not here. It's just the two of us.”

“Frankie,” he muttered, his fingertips trailing down her throat. “Just so we're clear—this has nothing to do with Harry.” His gaze flicked to the base of her throat, where his thumb stroked over the fast race of her pulse. “I want you.”

His blunt words widened Frankie's eyes and sent heat flooding through her body. “Eli, I don't—”

He stopped her with a fingertip across her lips. “I'm not saying I want out of our deal to fool Harry. I just want you to know that if I'm kissing you—” he paused, his eyes going hotter “—or anything else physical, I'm not acting.”

Frankie's gaze searched his face but found only sincere, focused intent. Much as she was tempted to tell him she wanted him, too, she was scared to death of opening that door. Desire warred with a deep conviction that she needed to protect her heart.

But if she wanted to move past her schoolgirl crush, maybe she needed to be a little more daring. Perhaps limited lovemaking with Eli would inoculate her against another full-blown crush, she thought.

Or maybe she was rationalizing because she desperately wanted more of his kisses. Whatever it was, Frankie decided to take a chance.

“Okay,” she murmured. He didn't move, his gaze fixed on hers. Although his thumb continued to stroke seductively against her throat, he clearly waited for her to respond further. She'd never had a conversation quite like this with any man she'd dated but decided to be equally blunt with him. “I'm not ready to sleep with you yet.”

“All right.”

His body had tensed with her words, his restraint palpable as he waited.

She slipped her arms around his neck, her fingers testing the heavy silk of his dark hair. “Just so we're clear, when we're alone, I'm not pretending, either. And I'm sure I'm ready for more kissing.” His muscles tightened against hers. “Maybe some serious fooling around?” she ventured.

A half smile tilted his lips. “I'll take whatever I can get,” he murmured before he lifted her, settling her across his lap, and his mouth took hers.

When Eli left Frankie's condo several hours later, he was aroused and hungry, but he'd managed to keep his vow to honor Frankie's decision not to make love.

How the hell he'd kept from seducing her on the sofa, or the carpet or any other available flat surface, he had no idea. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman this badly, nor when he'd been so turned on just by kissing.

He drove home and went to bed, but his dreams were hot and vividly sexual.

And all of them featured making love with Frankie.

 

After one last sizzling good-night kiss, Frankie closed the door behind Eli and slumped against the wood panels. When she straightened, she caught a glimpse of her self in the mirror. Her hair was disheveled and tumbled to her shoulders; her mouth was deeply pink and faintly swollen from the pressure of Eli's lips; her eyes were heavy-lidded and her skin flushed.

She'd barely managed to keep from begging him to make love to her, and if he'd pushed, she wasn't sure she could have said no.

Which meant she needed to decide how she felt about him while he wasn't in the same room, because she obviously lost the ability to think clearly when he was kissing her.

She needed to talk to her sisters, badly.

Frankie picked up the phone and tapped in half the numbers for Tommi before she remembered to look at the clock.

Ten-thirty. On a Friday night. She couldn't call her sister this late. Tommi was five months' pregnant, probably exhausted from a long day at her thriving restaurant and, if she was lucky, her guy was rubbing her feet and feeding her chocolates right about now.

Since Max adored Tommi, Frankie was pretty sure
he was taking good care of her sister, and she didn't want to disrupt their time together. Tommi deserved to be cherished and coddled.

She'd talked to Georgie at work earlier that day and knew she had plans to go out that evening.

And that left Bobbie—but Frankie suspected her younger sister and her new husband were also probably engaged in newlywed bliss at the moment.

Where are the Fairchild women when I need them?
She sighed and returned the phone to its base. Her two younger sisters were dizzy with happiness, partnered with men who adored them. Frankie couldn't be happier for them.

But having her sisters busy left Frankie with no one to confide in.

Sighing, she walked into the bathroom. A few moments later, she'd changed into pajamas and climbed into bed, switching off the lamp to stare at the dark ceiling.

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright.

Lily,
she realized with delight. She could talk to Lily about Eli. Not only had Lily gone through turmoil before she and Justin had worked out their difficulties to happily marry, but she also knew Eli very well.

She was scheduled to have a playdate with Ava the following morning. They'd arranged to meet at Lily's boutique in Ballard—she could arrive early and, hopefully, have a private conversation with Lily before Justin dropped off Ava.

Relieved that she had a plan, Frankie closed her eyes. Her evening with Eli continued to replay itself behind her lowered eyelids, however, and it was some time before she finally fell asleep.