Challenge Accepted - A Contemporary Romance (16 page)

"You didn't see your grandfather much when you were growing up, did you?"
Cole asked, his mind busily digesting everything she'd said as they left the path and walked on to the ragged green lawn. He'd forgotten about Charlie, and that was a mistake, because Charlie had never been anyone's fool.

"No, we never visited," she answered candidly. "My father and grandfather had a huge fight when I was small and they never made it up. Actually, I think my father would have liked to before he died, but my mother was always bitterly angry toward grandfather."

"Parents leave a tremendous legacy, don't they?" Cole said softly, the memory of his own father as tangible as the great columns of Oakleigh.

"Yes, they do," Elinor agreed, pausing on the low front step to meet his eyes.

"Will you introduce me to your grandfather?" he entreated, his tone low. God only knew why he was pushing this. Being recognized by Charlie or the old man would jeopardize all his plans, but he had a sudden urge to see just what Elinor had taken on in coming back to get to know her grandfather. There was no one else but her and old Charlie to care for Daniel Prescott.

"Of course. If you like," she acquiesced, turning to cross the wide lower gallery to the front door. "But, I warn you, he's sometimes very testy."

The main entrance doorway, surrounded by heavy, leaded glass, opened onto a wide hallway from which a magnificent spiral staircase rose to the third floor. Cole followed Elinor as she passed through the entry without a second glance at its tarnished beauty.

"Grandfather!" she called out as she went through to a large room to the right. "It's Elinor. I've brought a guest for you."

The shrunken frame of Daniel Prescott occupied a chair in a darkened corner. As he followed Elinor into the room, Cole's nostrils recoiled. The room stank of age, the medi¬cated decay of a human life. A hospital bed occupied a far corner, giving testimony to just how small Daniel Prescott's world had become.

"I don't want to see you." Prescott's quavering voice was a far cry from the irritated boom Cole remembered. "I told you when I let you rent that cottage from me. I don't want you hanging over me. I don't need no woman hanging over me."

He made her pay to live in that tumbled down cottage? From what Cole had seen, she had to have spent a fortune just to make it livable.

"I know, Grandfather," Elinor soothed. "I won't stay long, but Charlie had to go out for a while and I promised to stop in and make sure you have everything."

Cole relaxed. With Daniel's attendant absent, the threat of recognition diminished considerably.

"Where is Charlie? I should have fired him twenty years ago," the old man swore viciously." He's never around when he's needed. Always out drinkin' and whorin'."

Hanging back by the doorway, Cole felt his lips twitch at the image of the upstanding Charlie engaged in either activity.

"There's no need for you to get upset," Elinor said bracingly. "He'll be back soon. And there's someone here who wants to meet you. Do you feel up to it?"

"I'm fine," Daniel Prescott spat out. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Good." Elinor held her hand out to Cole in a gesture so sweetly eloquent of invitation that he longed to kiss her then and there. Instead, he moved forward, knowing she was unaware of the impact she had on him.

As he stepped farther into the darkness surrounding Daniel, Cole felt the hairs prickle on his neck as his pulse picked up its tempo. Risk always did that to him. Surely it was more that than any real anxiety over facing the nemesis from his youth. He was a man now, successful and powerful, and Daniel Prescott had withered into a shell of his former self, unable to harm anyone but himself.

"Who's that?" Daniel quavered venomously. "Some man come sniffin' round your skirts?"

"This is Mr. Whittier, Grandfather," Elinor responded evenly. "He's wanting to build a large manufacturing plant here in Bayville."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Prescott," Cole said as he stepped in front of the old man's chair. "Nice to meet you."

"Whittier?"

"Yes, sir," Cole affirmed, waiting for the outburst he knew would follow.

"What are you wantin'?"

Had the old fool even heard his name? Was his senility so far advanced that he didn't remember the kid who'd grown up in the shadow of Oakleigh?

"I'm building a plastics plant on the Lanier property." Cole felt Elinor's gaze sear him, but he ignored her to focus on the man who'd drawn so much of his adolescent rage. The old snob had never missed a chance to sneer at Cole's father. "You're a significant citizen of Bayville and I just wanted to acquaint you with my plans."

"I don't want to know about any plans. Why should I care what they do in Bayville?" Prescott demanded. "I'll be dead inside a year. The town can rot for all I care."

Catching Cole's eye for a significant second, Elinor bent near her grandfather to say, "Charlie said you had some papers for me."

"Yeah," her grandfather said, the fire suddenly going out of him. "They're over there on the desk. Don't look at them now! Just take them. I don't want you hanging around any longer than you have to."

"Okay. I can see you're all right. I'll take the papers and go," she promised, bending to kiss his withered cheek.

To Cole's surprise, the old man accepted her display of affection without rejecting her. "Go on now," he said, his voice softening only marginally.

Elinor picked a fat envelope up off the desk, saying quietly, "Good night, Grandfather."

Cole walked out with her, feeling unaccountably shaken. He'd come back to Bayville knowing his enemy was in a weakened state, but he'd never expected to pity Daniel Prescott. And the oddest thing was that he didn't pity the old man for his age and infirmity as much as he did for Daniel's obvious inability to acknowledge the love of his granddaughter. Cole couldn't help but feel compassion for her.

Elinor carefully closed and locked the heavy front door.

She felt a small sense of triumph that her grandfather now tolerated her presence in his life. At first when she'd come to live in Bayville, he'd sworn at her viciously and told her never to darken his door.

Fortunately, she'd never lacked determination. That crusty old man was her only living relative, and he needed her even if he'd never admit it.

"Walk me to my car?" Cole asked, the slightest hint of cajolery in his voice.

"Of course," Elinor agreed politely, her wariness of him suddenly roaring back to life. For a few minutes, when he'd spoken so quietly on the front gallery and seemed so unperturbed by her grandfather, she'd almost forgotten who he was.

Glancing quickly at him now as they descended the shallow steps and walked across the lawn, she wondered how that was possible. He emitted an aura of self-assurance like a silent pheromone. Even being dismissed by her grandfather hadn't shaken him. That in itself had a telling significance. Men who sought influence were usually jealous of their importance.

Cole Whittier carried himself as if power no longer mattered to him. And, for a man in his position, that could only mean that he had more power than he'd ever need.

Elinor shivered, in spite of herself. She'd sworn long ago never to get involved with a man who worshipped money. It had destroyed Daniel Prescott and had governed her own father's life until his dying breath.

"You're very quiet," Cole murmured as they walked along the drive, narrowed by heavily overgrown shrubs. "It must be difficult being saddled with a sick old man who never gave a damn about you when you were a kid."

"He's not just a sick old man," she retorted stiffly, hostility flooding through her at his callous words. "He's my grandfather."

"I'm sorry," Cole apologized. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just that taking care of an elderly relative is no picnic. Particularly when you consider the financial strain."

"Well, I don't, Mr. Whittier." Elinor's agitation quickened her steps down the drive. "I don't consider the 'financial strain.' There are some things that can't be figured up in terms of cash equivalents."

"Wait a second." He caught her arm, pulling her to a stop. His eyes latched on to hers as securely as his hand held her wrist. "I never meant to upset you. It's obvious that you care for your grandfather. That's admirable." Cole's voice lowered. "The last thing I want is to pick a fight with you."

"I'm sorry," Elinor apologized stiffly as she dodged the impact of his gaze. "I shouldn't have said anything. Naturally, I take these things more seriously than you do."

"Why 'naturally'?" he questioned softly, still holding her wrist in a firm, gentle grip.

"Well, we're in very different situations," she floundered, trying to back out of the confrontation. Taking Cole Whittier to task over his values wasn't her affair. She had no business with Cole, outside of her council membership.

He seemed to loom over her, solid and potent in the narrow drive as early-evening shadows darkened around them like a veil.

"Why do you dislike me?" His intense blue eyes trapped hers as his question settled between them, a softly thrown gauntlet.

"I—I don't dislike you," Elinor denied, tugging to free her arm. He was so close, so overwhelmingly male. "We just have different priorities."

"Different priorities?" he echoed, letting her pull away.

"Yes, you're interested in profit and I am concerned about the people of Bayville," she said baldly, abandoning her attempt to dodge the issue.

"You know," Cole said thrusting his hands in his pockets, "this isn't the first time you've sneered at my business. What exactly do you have against prosperity?"

"Nothing," she replied stung. "It just seems to me that businesses sometimes let the pursuit of profit override the bigger issue of what's best for people."

"That doesn't make much sense," he declared. "You're an accountant. You spend your time dealing with money. How does that match up with a distrust of monetary gains?"

"I help people handle their finances," corrected Elinor, "so they don't have crises that disrupt their families. My goal is to help them develop stable, realistic financial foundations."

"So it's my business that bugs you, not me," he concluded with deep satisfaction as they stood still facing each other in the drive.

"I'm not bugged by anything," she retorted wishing he wasn't so close, but determined not to retreat.

"I'm glad" confessed Cole, his voice suddenly soft as warm butter, "because I find you very attractive."

Elinor felt her jaw drop in surprise at his open declaration.

"Very attractive," he repeated his eyes fastened on her mouth as he bent closer.

She was paralyzed Elinor realized in desperation as his mouth lowered to hers. Paralyzed when she should have been running in the other direction.

The taste of his kiss descended over her, warm and heady, as potent as a drug. His hands held her shoulders, but she felt his touch everywhere, the magic of his kiss swirling around her like a gentle
fog, overwhelming and disorienting. She lost sight of herself, lost sense of anything but him.

His lips were warm against hers, coaxing and winning an answering desire in her. Elinor opened them involuntarily.

Power radiated from him, sending sensation splintering through her, the stroke of the sun on bare skin, the flavor of desire on her tongue. He fed her with the caress of his mouth, stoking hungers she'd never known, inciting a fire in her body that set off a powerful craving for him.

Elinor felt herself trembling, her dazed body held in a fevered immobility. The desire flooding through her left her shocked and frightened. She wanted this man. Wanted him in every carnal way, even when she knew she shouldn't.

His lips brushed hers, over and over, as if enamored of the taste of her. And just when he had her powerless, trembling with urgency, he pulled back.

Feeling bereft as he lifted his lips from hers, Elinor's eyes blinked open. Cole's gaze met hers, blue fire latching on to her with a banked intensity.

"Uh." She cleared her throat. Regret settled powerfully on her as the fog of passion lifted. If only this man weren't Cole Whittier, the millionaire. She had to set some boundaries, keep her distance. "I'm sorry, Cole."

"Sorry?" he murmured, his eyes still dark with passion. "Why?"

She drew back a fraction, resisting the urge to shake her head in an effort to clear her brain. Feeling suddenly chilled, Elinor clasped her hands together.

Before she could come up with a coherent answer to his soft question, Cole turned and strode through the open gates.

A quietly expensive sedan sat parked by the side of the country road. Elinor blinked. For some reason, the absence of the limo bugged her. If Cole Whittier stopped acting like a millionaire, she'd be in real trouble.

She stood by the huge stone gate post and watched as he drove away.

Her mind filled with troubled thoughts, Elinor slowly made her way down the path to her house. As she mounted the front steps of the raised cottage, she remembered the envelope in her skirt pocket.

Closing the door behind her, she went into the cozy kitchen, one of the rooms she'd splurged on when she remodeled the old house. Unable to contain her curiosity, she sat at the small table and examined the envelope her grandfather had given her.