Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (7 page)

She’d been devastated by her mother’s death. And terrified that the French police wouldn’t believe her father when he told them his wife had fallen during an argument. The circumstances and the situation had
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looked suspicious. Even to Heather, who’d come downstairs minutes after the accident.

Scared, out of her depth, Heather had done as he asked. She’d run.

Get over it,she told herself firmly.
I’m Hannah Smith now. I’m alive. I’ll have my life back. One day.

God, she was getting maudlin. She needed chocolate!

She still needed a couple of other things—a big, fat juicy steak for one, and a small bottle of champagne. Then the Girl Scout cookies and home.

She’d even grab a few society rags at the checkout stand so she could keep abreast of old friends. The more time she put between then and now, the more comfortable she felt in Hannah Smith’s skin. But knowing what was going on outside her insular world still had the attraction of keeping her connected to her old life as Heather Shaw. Sometimes she missed her old life.

Mostly she didn’t.

It was only after she’d run that she realized how unsatisfactory it had been. She’d never realized what a knife-edge of danger she’d been living with because of the people her father associated with. The people she and her mother considered friends. The families and friends of her banker father’s clients.

How could she have been so blind? So incredibly gullible? So damned
stupid
? She considered herself reasonably intelligent; why hadn’t she ever wondered how her father’s banking clients amassed the fortunes they entrusted him to manage?

Strong hands grabbed her arms as she went barreling around a display of canned baked beans, and almost mowed him down.

“Whoa,” he said with a smile. “Where’s the fire?”

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It was the same guy who’d given her the bread. “I’m sorry. Did I ste—” She stepped off his foot. Heat stole up her throat. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Trying to outrun demons rarely worked.

His blue eyes held humor as he dropped his hands. “No harm done. Nice seeing you again.” Without waiting for a response, thank God, he moved off down the frozen food aisle and opened a door to one of the freezers.

Feeling idiotic, Heather turned around and made a beeline for the meat cases in the back of the store.

Making a lightning-fast steak choice, she hurried over to the dairy section for sour cream. Oh, no—

He glanced up, a brick of sharp cheddar in his hand, and a mock scowl on his handsome face. “Are you stalking me?”

Heather’s eyes widened. “No. Of course no—No!” she choked back a laugh.

With a theatrical sigh he tossed the cheese into the basket he was carrying. “Damn. A man can live in hope.”

There was an innate sexuality about him as his muscles shifted effortlessly beneath the black T-shirt clinging damply to his hard upper body.
Whew, it was hot in here.
“What about my husband and the children?”

“Do you
have
a husband?”

“No.” And if she
did
he would be nothing like this guy. He was definitely a fantasy man, she thought, as her heart raced and her palms grew damp,
not
the father of her future children.

“Single mother?”

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She smiled. “No.”

“Will you have mine?” His eyes gleamed mischievously.

Her pulses leapt. “Your what?” she asked mischievously, enjoying the game. “Your mother?”

His smile widened. “My children.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider it. “Would I have to have seven?”

Eyes an unfathomable deep-sea blue regarded her with sultry appraisal. “How about three?”

“Three’s good.” Her heart fluttered beneath her rib cage at that hot gaze. She licked her dry lips.
Wow,
he was potent.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes on her mouth, watching the small movement of her tongue.

Short dark lashes flickered as his attention leveled out to meet hers. Heat blazed teal fire, setting off a heated response in her.

Two women, shopping together with a couple of toddlers, wanted to get by. He gave them a charming smile that made Heather weak at the knees. The two young mothers thought so too. One blushed, and the other fiddled with her hair. They started giggling as they neared the other end of the aisle.

His attention was on her when she turned back to him. “They’ll be boys, of course.”

Had he moved closer? Gripping her grocery basket in tight fists, she felt his warm breath fanning her cheek. “Why ‘of course’?” Instead of moving back, she tilted her face a little more to better see his.

Despite beads of icy rain still clinging to her coat, she was suddenly extremely—
extremely
warm. “What if I’d prefer six or seven daughters?”

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“As much as I’d love to have
ten
beautiful daughters with eyes the color of sunlit whiskey, and hair the color of honey, all of whom look
just
like their gorgeous mother, I’m afraid if you insist on girls we’ll have to adopt. There hasn’t been a female born in my family for five hundred years.”

Sunlit whiskey and honey?Heather bit back a smile. “Really?”

“Really.” His lips curved, and for a moment it sent all rational thought from her head. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

“Hmm.” Silly, this was just an innocent flirtation in public, but her pulses leapt crazily at the desire in his eyes. “Isn’t this a little quick?” she asked, a little breathlessly, feeling her body respond to him in a way that she immediately recognized, but had never felt this fast, this hot, before.

When his gaze moved gently over her face like that Heather swore she could feel the brush of his interest against her skin. A pleasant shiver of acute awareness traveled down her spine.

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” he asked softly.

“Is that what this is?” The banter was charged with eroticism, and she could barely speak for the thickness in her throat. “I thought it was just hunger.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “Of a kind.”

“Yes. Of a kind.” Something about this conversation had a serious undertone and she took a cautious step back.

“Now that we’re engaged, will you let me buy you a cup of coffee at the Starbucks next door?”

“I—”

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“Say I will.”

Ignoring the warm liquid flutter inside, like being bathed in warm honey, Heather searched his eyes and saw nothing more dangerous than a casual flirtation lurking in the teal depths. Why not? How long had it been since she’d felt feminine? It wasn’t as though they were going to get naked and roll around making love on the floor of a coffee shop. It wasn’t going any further than a cup of coffee and a mild flirtation.

Unfortunately.

She bit back a moan, because of course, now the image of him
naked,
of touching his bare skin, was all she could think about. She cleared her throat and dredged up a smile. “How about if I say ‘yes to coffee,’ for now?”

“That’ll work.” His lips twitched and his eyes went hot. “For now.”

Carrying Heather’s bag of groceries, Caleb walked,
limped,
damn it, her to the coffee shop next door.

Unfortunately, the short trip was under cover; a quick detour in the pouring rain might have substituted for a cold shower.

Mine.

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The thought slammed into his brain out of nowhere.
Whoa, pal!
He yanked on his mental brakes. Where in the hell had
that
come from? He was too damned pragmatic to be possessive. Especially about a woman.

Because of Nairne’s Curse, it had always been a foregone conclusion that he’d never be in a relationship long enough to make it complicated.

Sex? Oh, yeah. Involved? Possessive? Hell no.

Unfortunately, no sex here. Too bad. He was hot for her, but Shaw’s daughter was an assignment. And a short assignment at that. Anything was better than being bored out of his gourd.

An interesting,
sexy
assignment. But that was all.

Think cold shower.

Couple of hours, and he’d teleport to Berlin and Kris-Alice. Somehow the thought of the beautiful German woman became less appealing each time he saw Heather.
Hannah.
Once he was in Germany he’d start nagging Lark again. He was itching to get back in the field after three months of inactivity.

All he had to do now was get a location for Papa Shaw. He’d buy her a cup of coffee, flirt a little, subtly ask the question, and be done.

There were half a dozen people scattered about the small coffee shop when they walked in, some sitting, some standing at the counter, but Caleb spotted a small table in back and headed for it, Heather beside him. The shop smelled richly of coffee and rain-damp customers.

“This good?” he asked her, indicating the small table in the corner. He placed her bag of groceries on the third chair. She’d feel safe with the wall at her back. Clear view of the door. He stayed out of her personal space, lulling her into a false sense of security. The enemy had already breached her walls.

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Then why the hell didn’t he
feel
like her enemy? His body felt very…friendly toward hers.

“Great.”

“What will it be?” he asked easily.

“Anything hot and with chocolate in it. Large. Thanks.”

He brushed a damp strand of hair off her face with his finger, letting his knuckle linger on the softness of her cheek. “Think of our children’s names.” He dropped his hand before she could move out of reach.

“Be right back.”

He returned a few minutes later with two large coffees in tall covered paper cups. “One
venti
mocha for the lady with the pretty eyes.” He placed the twenty-ounce cup in front of her.

Heather dragged her attention from the bank of windows overlooking the wet street as he approached.

Her lips curved as she looked at him. “Thanks. Aren’t you freezing without a coat?”

“Warm-blooded.”
Hot-blooded looking at you.
Everything about Heather Shaw appealed to him. From her height, to her silky golden-brown hair, to her large, hazel eyes with their fringe of thick lashes. Her makeup was subtle and understated, but showed an experienced hand. Rain droplets beaded on the shoulders of her black raincoat and sparkled in her hair like jeweled netting refracting light. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold.

He didn’t know a lot about clothes, but he guessed that what she was wearing now was off the rack—and an inexpensive rack at that—rather than the designer stuff she used to wear.
Where’s
Daddy’s money, sweetheart? Hell. Where’s Daddy?

Had she and Shaw had a falling out? Was it her father she was constantly looking for outside, or some old boyfriend she’d changed her name to avoid?

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“You should probably know the name of the father of your children,” he said easily. Putting down his cup, he held out his hand across the table. “Caleb Edge.”

She slid hers into it automatically. Hers was slender, her handshake firm, palm slightly damp. If that didn’t tell him she was nervous, the fact that she was sitting perched on the edge of her seat did. She was a bird ready to fly.

“Hannah Smith.” She withdrew her hand almost immediately and reached for her cup. She took a tentative sip through the hole in the plastic lid. Apparently her drink was too hot. She put it down and wrapped her hands around the base.

Caleb kicked out the chair not quite opposite, sat, then slouched back, intentionally relaxed and nonthreatening. He dragged his attention away from the rapid pulse at the base of her slender throat to gaze into her eyes. Hazel. More brown than green. Pretty. Despite the rich, dark fragrance of coffee surrounding them, he could smell her. Something light and floral and evocative of summer.

“So Hannah Smith, tell me all about you.” He purposely broke eye contact, wanting to appear interested, not predatory, and pried the lid off his coffee cup. It was one thing to pretend an attraction to get what he wanted. It was quite another to feel this avalanche of sensations at her very nearness. His own heart rate was up, and he was preternaturally aware of everything about her. There was no pretending about it.

He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. Everything in him was on a razor edge of arousal. Which was as bizarre as it was disconcerting. Lust at first sight was something new. He didn’t care for it. Especially here and especially now.