Beauty and the Wolf / Their Miracle Twins (17 page)

“Nice music.” He rose and walked to the sofa. “Dance with me, Frankie.”

Lifting the glass from her hand, he set it on the table and caught her fingers in his to draw her up from the soft cushions.

He tucked her close with his hands at her waist, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers testing the silky black hair at his nape as his arms hugged her closer. They moved slowly in time to the music, bodies swaying in the lamplit room.

Eli’s arms tightened, his hands smoothing over the soft strip of bare skin in the space between the hem of her sweater and the waistband of her skirt.

“Should I worry about losing my head and being seduced?” Frankie murmured against his throat.

She felt his lips curve against her temple. “Not unless you want to be. Of course,” he drawled, his powerful thighs moving against hers as they swayed to the music, “any time you want to lure me into your bed, feel free.
I’m just a poor innocent country boy, so you could probably have your way with me before I knew what you were up to.”

Frankie tilted her head back, laughing as she met his gaze. “You’re an innocent country boy? Is this part of the cowboy-vibe thing?”

“Yup. Be gentle with me.”

Frankie was laughing when he kissed her. His warm lips curved in a smile as they settled over hers.

“I missed you,” she sighed when his head lifted and she tucked her face against the strong, warm column of his throat. Each breath she took drew in the subtle tang of his aftershave and, beneath it, the elusive male scent she’d come to associate with Eli. “Let’s not fight anymore.”

His arms tightened reflexively, pressing her closer.

“No,” he rasped in agreement. “Let’s not fight.”

Their bodies moved together, the very air thickening with heat.

“I missed you, too.”

Frankie’s heart slammed in her throat. “Did you?” she whispered.

He nodded, his cheek, faintly rough with beard stubble, moving against her hair. “Too much.” His voice was deeper, rougher. He stopped dancing, his mouth claiming hers with unmistakable desire.

F
rankie felt surrounded by Eli as he swung her off her feet and carried her to the sofa. His much bigger frame crowded hers on the wide cushions, but Frankie didn’t care. She was swept up in the heat that exploded between them.

This was what she’d always wanted, needed, and had never found in any man she’d dated before. The passion that roared out of control between them was irresistible, and Frankie didn’t try to fight it. Confident in his willingness to stop if she said no, she let desire pull her under, reveling in the shudder that shook his big frame when she slid her hands under his sweater and stroked her palms up the length of his bare back.

Eli tugged at her sweater, his hand flattening over the bare skin of her ribcage above her waistband.

When his fingers brushed over the soft swell of her breast above her bra, Frankie murmured against his mouth, shifting beneath the heavy thigh covering her own.

Long heated moments passed before Eli gradually eased them back from the edge, his kisses soothing rather than stoking the fire between them. At last, he lifted his head and looked down at her.

“Honey, if you’re not going to ask me to stay for breakfast, we’d better go back to watching TV.”

Dazed, Frankie stared up at him, struggling to process the switch from passion to practicality.

“I …”

The phone rang, startling both of them.

“Do you need to answer that?” Eli asked.

“I suppose I should.”

He lifted away from her, stretched across the sofa and grabbed the phone from the end table and handed it to her. Frankie sat upright and slid her feet to the floor.

“Hello?” She frowned slightly. “Yes, this is Frankie Fairchild.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, hello, Nicholas. How nice to hear from you.”

Beside her, Eli’s big body tensed. She glanced at him to find him watching her, eyes narrowed, his face inscrutable.

She paused, listening. “Much as I’d love to, I’m afraid I’m busy on Saturday. I’m so sorry.”

Frankie exchanged a few more polite comments with Nicholas, then rushed to end the call, clearly impatient—and mad. “I’m so sorry, Nicholas, but my date
just arrived. I’m afraid I have to ring off—lovely to hear from you. Yes, I’ll tell Mom hello for you. Bye.”

She switched the phone off and looked at Eli.

“That was Nicholas Dean,” she said unnecessarily. “He told me he ran into Harry and Mom this afternoon and they mentioned how much I’ve been wanting to see the new musical at the Pantages. And since he has tickets, he thought we could go together.”

“I bet he did,” Eli said, his voice a growl.

“Harry’s still matchmaking—and with Nicholas.” Frankie could hardly believe it. “He
knows
you and I have been dating. And so does Mom. Why on earth would she have gone along with Harry nudging Nicholas to ask me out?”

“I don’t know. I thought she liked me,” Eli commented, a muscle flexing along his jawline. He stood, raking his hair back. “Maybe she likes the idea of you paired with Nicholas better.”

“Oh, no, Eli. I’m sure that’s not true.” Frankie rose to slide her arms around his waist, and Eli instantly slipped his arms around her, tugging her forward until she rested against his hard length. “It’s far more likely that Harry was not so subtly encouraging Nicholas to call me and Mom wasn’t able to stop him. You know how Harry is when he gets an idea fixed in his head—he’s like a bulldozer with no brakes.”

“That’s true.” Eli nodded, his hands smoothing over her waist. “And apparently he’s still fixated on getting you and Nicholas together.” He looked down at her. “You’re sure you’re not interested in him?”

She shook her head.

“Thank God.” He narrowed his eyes over her. “I’ve always liked Nicholas, but I’m not sure we’d stay friends if you went out with him.”

“Are you saying you might be unfriendly if you ran into him?” Frankie asked.

“I’m saying I’m not normally a violent man, but I’m making no promises if you start dating other men.”

“Just so we’re clear,” she said slowly, suppressing a smile. “Are you saying you want us to be exclusive and not date other people?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, and you know it,” he told her, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“I just wanted to be clear. And to be even more clear, you’re asking me, not telling me, correct?”

He nodded. “Absolutely. I would never order an intelligent, independent woman such as yourself not to date other men. I’m sure you’d call me a neanderthal if I did.”

“Yes,” she told him primly. “I certainly would.”

“Then I can count myself lucky we’re in agreement.” He picked her up, her feet dangling in the air, and kissed her.

The kiss was hot, carnal and a fierce declaration of possession, branding Frankie as surely as if he’d marked her. When he lowered her feet to the floor, she had to clutch his arms to keep from staggering.

“Since you won’t let me stay for breakfast, I think it’s time for me to leave, while I can still tear myself away.”

Much to her satisfaction, Eli’s breathing was as ragged as hers.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they walked to the door.

Moments later, after he’d donned jacket and boots and they’d shared another kiss that left her feeling dazed and hot, he left.

As Frankie turned out her bedside lamp later, she vowed to have a talk with Harry and her mother. She was certain Cornelia must have been an innocent bystander to Harry’s machinations.

But Harry better be prepared to explain why he’s continuing to interfere in my love life when it’s clear Eli and I are involved,
she thought with determination.

Frankie called Cornelia the following morning and, after chatting for a few moments, learned her mother was meeting Harry at his house that evening after work.

“Why don’t you join us, Frankie?” Cornelia said. “We’re going over the applications for the HuntCom college scholarship program. I’d love to have your input, and I know Harry would, too.”

“What time?” Frankie asked, listening as Cornelia gave her the details. When she hung up, she’d promised to join them for an hour.

And she planned to use most of that hour grilling Harry about his matchmaking efforts, she thought with determination.

When she pulled into Harry’s driveway that evening, Cornelia’s Volvo was parked next to a long, black town
car. Frankie slotted her BMW in beside the limo and walked quickly down the walk. She glanced at the sky over the lake, thankful that the Pacific Northwest was enjoying a beautiful clear day although the sun was already low on the horizon, sinking behind the Seattle skyline.

“Good evening, Sonja,” she said as Harry’s longtime maid opened the door. “I’m meeting my mother here—is she in the library with Harry?”

“Yes, miss.” Sonja took her coat. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Frankie shook her head. “I doubt it, not tonight.”

In fact, she thought as she left the maid and walked through the house to reach the library, she might not be staying more than a few minutes. It all depended on whether Harry agreed to cease his attempts to fix her up with Nicholas Dean.

She’d long since grown accustomed to the opulent home Harry had built with the fortune he’d made from HuntCom, the computer software corporation he’d built through sheer genius and hard work. Cornelia and her husband had grown up with Harry; the two men had been partners when HuntCom was a fledgling firm operated out of Harry’s garage. When Frankie’s father died suddenly, leaving little money for his widow and daughters, Harry had tried to convince Cornelia to let him take care of her and the girls. But Cornelia had refused, stubbornly determined to make her own way. She’d sold their big house and moved her daughters back to her family home in Queen Anne, then taken a
job working at a private school to fund their education. Through sheer determination and shrewd acumen, Cornelia had managed to raise her girls with only minimal interference from Harry. She’d accepted his offer of educational traveling during school vacations, however, and reluctantly agreed when he gave them each a large sum of money upon high school graduation.

Frankie had used Harry’s graduation gift to pay her tuition while she earned two master’s degrees and a PhD.

Much as she adored her uncle Harry, however, she was determined to take a firm stand on the issue of his matchmaking. He’d simply stepped beyond what any self-respecting woman could accept, she thought as she entered the library.

“There you are, Frankie,” Cornelia greeted her with a welcoming smile. She and Harry were seated at a cherrywood library table halfway down the long room.

At the far end of the room, facing a wall of windows and French doors that led to a patio, was Harry’s massive mahogany desk. The room provided a fabulous view of Lake Washington and the Seattle skyline beyond.

Frankie’s heels tapped on the polished wooden floors, grew muffled as she crossed a deep-piled oriental carpet, then clicked on bare flooring once more.

“Hello, Mom, Harry.” Frankie set her purse on the table and took the chair on Harry’s right. He sat at the end of the table, Cornelia on his left, several stacks of papers arranged on the glossy surface. Both he and Cornelia had sheets of paper and a small group of scholarship
applications on the table in front of them. A coffee-service tray took up space just beyond Cornelia.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Cornelia said. “I’d love your input on several of the applications. We’ve narrowed down the number, as you can see.” She gestured at the smaller stacks.

“I’m happy to help, Mom,” Frankie replied, her back ramrod straight and several inches away from the back of her chair. “But first, I need to talk to you and Harry.”

“Oh?” Cornelia glanced from her to Harry, a puzzled frown pleating her brow. “What about?”

“I had a phone call last night—from Nicholas Dean.”

The brief flash of guilt that flickered across Harry’s features confirmed Frankie’s suspicions that he’d instigated the call.

“Uncle Harry, I specifically told you the night we were all here for dinner that I wasn’t interested in Nicholas,” she told him. “And yet you’re apparently trying to push the two of us together.”

“Harry!” Cornelia’s expression was appalled, her dismay echoed in her voice. “Please tell me you haven’t been meddling in Frankie’s love life.”

“Now, just a minute,” Harry blustered, his cheeks flushed. “I wouldn’t call it meddling.”

“What
would
you call it?” Frankie demanded.

“Well,” he grumbled. “I only mentioned that you’d been wanting to see the new musical at the Pantages, that’s all.”

“And?” Frankie prompted when he paused.

“All right,” he admitted. “I might have suggested Nicholas should phone you.”

Frankie groaned. “Why do you keep doing this?” she asked, genuinely perplexed. “First with your own sons, then with Tommi and Bobbie—and now me! You’ve got to stop interfering in our lives.”

“My sons are all happily married, and Tommi and Bobbie appear very happy, so how is that a bad thing?” Harry asked.

“You were lucky, Uncle Harry—what if your sons or my sisters had ended up brokenhearted, or divorced?”

“But they didn’t,” he insisted with stubborn logic.

“But you couldn’t have known how things would turn out when you started throwing people together,” Frankie pointed out. “And it could have been a disaster.”

“I only wanted you and your sisters to be as happy as my boys,” Harry said. “Even your mother thought Nicholas was right for you.”

Frankie’s eyes widened. “Mom, please tell me you didn’t know Harry was doing this. I assumed you were an innocent bystander when Harry cornered Nicholas and told him to phone me.” The sense of betrayal was sharp. Surely her mother wouldn’t have gone along with Harry’s crazy scheme?

“I had nothing to do with that,” Cornelia said firmly. She frowned at Harry, her eyes accusing. “I admit we discussed how much we liked Nicholas the night of the Children’s Hospital fundraiser. I may even have commented that he seemed more of a match for you than
Eli, but I
never
told Harry to interfere and set you up with Nicholas.”