Dream A Little Dream

10

Ethan left the house reluctantly. Rachel realized that all she needed was a few minutes alone with the chest, a few minutes to look beneath the lining or find the secret compartment and she could go.

She wrapped her fingers more securely around the corners and tried to buy herself some time. "Your brother's a grouch. I guess it runs in the family."

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one of the elaborate columns that led to the living room. "I'm surprised you didn't unbutton your dress and offer to take him on to keep him quiet."

"Everything happened too fast. I didn't have time to think of it."

He lifted an eyebrow and took a lazy step forward. "Hand it over."

Her heart felt as if it were moving toward her throat. "No way, Slick. This is mine. It was a present from my grandmother on my sixth birthday."

"Give it to me."

"She sold zucchinis in the broiling sun one entire summer so she could give this to me, and she made me swear always to keep it."

"We can do this easy or rough, it's up to you."

She swallowed hard. "Okay, you win. I'll give it to you. But first I need to dry myself off. I'm freezing." She edged away from him toward the family room.

He stepped in front of her, blocking the way. "Nice try."

With one swift movement, he pulled the chest from her arms.

Ignoring her gasp of dismay, he headed for the stairs. "Go ahead and dry off while I put this away. And I'll take that key when you're done."

"Stop it!" She couldn't let him do this, and she charged after him across the marble. "You're being a sadistic ass! Just let me look at it."

"Why?"

"Because I might have left something inside."

"Such as?"

She hesitated. "An old love letter from Dwayne."

He regarded her with disgust and turned back toward the stairs.

"Stop!"

He kept going.

"Wait!" She grabbed his arm, then wished she hadn't touched him, and quickly let go. "Okay, maybe Dwayne might have left something in it."

He paused with one foot on the bottom step. "Like what?"

"Like-" Her mind raced. "A lock of Edward's baby hair."

"You're going to have to do a lot better than that." He began to climb.

"All right! I'll tell you." She struggled to come up with another lie, but couldn't think of anything that would be even mildly convincing. She would either have to tell him the truth or let him take the chest away. It was no choice. She couldn't let the chest disappear again until she'd looked inside it, and she'd have to take the risk.

"Like the secret behind where he hid five million dollars."

That brought him up short. "Now we're getting somewhere."

She gazed up at him and worked hard to swallow. "The money's mine, Bonner. It's Edward's legacy. There are still some debts left, but the rest belongs to him. I earned every penny!"

"How do you figure?"

She got ready to give it to him-her smartest, sassiest, most wiseassed response. But then, just as the words were coining out, something happened inside her throat, and her voice broke. "Because I sold my soul for it," she whispered.

For a moment he didn't say anything. Then he tilted his head toward the top of the stairs. "I'll get you a robe. Your teeth are chattering."

Half an hour later, she sat across from him in the kitchen wearing nothing but her panties and his maroon terry-cloth robe as she stared down at the Kennedy chest. Her eyes were dry-she'd never cry in front of him again-but inside, she felt desolate.

"I was so sure." She shook her head, still unable to believe the chest held no clues. They had examined every microscopic inch of it and found nothing: no secret compartment holding a safe-deposit key, no Swiss bank-account number etched into the wood beneath the lining, no map or microfilm or computer password.

She wanted to slam her fists against the table, but instead, she forced herself to think. "The county sheriff was there along with the Salvation police, so there was a lot of law enforcement. One of them must have looked in the chest when he confiscated it and found something. One of them must have it."

"That doesn't make sense." Gabe picked up her coffee mug and carried it to the sink, where he refilled it from the pot on the counter. "You told me you checked the box before you got into the car. You looked and didn't find anything, so why would they? Besides, if the sheriff or one of our local police had stumbled on that kind of cash, we'd have seen some evidence of it by now, and the only person in the community who's spent any big money has been Cal."

"Maybe he-"

"Forget it. Cal made millions while he was in the NFL. Besides, if he or Jane had found anything in that box, they wouldn't have kept it a secret."

He was right. She slumped back into the red-velvet banquette in the kitchen's eating alcove. In her day the alcove had been wallpapered with gruesome full-blown metallic roses on the verge of decay, but they were gone now, replaced with small yellow rosebuds. The wallpaper was so completely out of place that it could only be some kind of private joke on the part of the current owners.

Gabe set the fresh mug of coffee in front of her and brushed her shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture. She wanted to tilt her cheek against the back of his hand, but he removed it before she could give in to the impulse. "Rachel, the odds are the money's at the bottom of the ocean."

She shook her head. "Dwayne had to leave the country too fast to handle any kind of complicated transaction. He couldn't possibly have taken that much money with him on such short notice."

Gabe sat across from her and set his arms on the table. Her eyes lingered there. His forearms were strong and deeply tanned, sprinkled with dark hair. "Tell me again everything he said that day."

She repeated the story, leaving out nothing. When she was done, she twisted her hands on the table. "I wanted to believe him when he told me he had to say good-bye to Edward, but I knew something was wrong. I suppose Dwayne loved Edward in an abstract way, but not in any way that counted. He was too self-centered."

"Then why didn't he just tell you to bring him the chest? Why did he bother asking you to bring Edward at all?"

"Because we were barely speaking at that point, and he knew that saying good-bye to his son was the one thing I couldn't refuse him." She cradled her coffee mug. "During my pregnancy with Edward, I finally came out of denial about what was going on at the Temple, and I made up my mind to leave him. But when I told him, he went ballistic. Not out of sentiment, but because, in those days, I was popular with his electronic congregation." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "He said he'd take Edward away from me if I ever tried to leave. I had to stay where I was, go on television with him for every broadcast, and not give any sign I was unhappy. Otherwise, he told me he knew men who would testify that I'd seduced them, and he'd prove I was an unfit mother."

"Bastard."

"Not the way he saw it. He found scripture to justify it."

"You said he also told you to bring his Bible."

"It was his mother's. He was sentimental about-" She straightened, and her gaze locked with his. "Do you think the clue might be in the Bible?"

"I don't think there is a clue. The money's in the ocean."

"You're wrong! You don't understand how frantic he sounded on the phone that evening."

"He was about to be arrested, and he was getting ready to flee the country. That would make anybody frantic."

"Fine! Don't believe me." She sprang to her feet in frustration. She had to find that Bible. Locating the money was the only hope she had for the future, but he didn't care about that.

Her nose was beginning to run from too much emotion, and she sniffed as she stalked toward the laundry room where her dress was tumbling in the dryer.

He spoke from behind her, his voice as gentle as the soft patter of rain outside. "Rachel. I'm on your side."

She wasn't prepared for his support, and she was so tired of fighting that it nearly undid her. She wanted to lean against him, if only for a moment, and let those sturdy shoulders bear some of the burden she carried. The temptation was so strong that it terrified her. The only person she could depend on was herself.

"You're all heart," she sneered, determined to put up a barrier between them that was so big he'd never cross it again.

But he didn't get angry. "I mean it."

"Thanks for nothing." She whirled on him. "Who are you kidding? After what happened to your family, you're so twisted inside that you can't even help yourself, let alone me."

The words were barely out before she caught her breath. What was happening to her? She hadn't meant to sound so cruel, and she felt a wave of dislike for the sharp-tongued woman she'd become.

He didn't respond. Instead, he turned away without a word.

Not even desperation was an excuse for the kind of nastiness she'd just administered. She stuck her hands in the front pockets of his robe and followed him into the kitchen. "Gabe, I'm sorry. I should never have lashed out at you like that."

"Forget it." He snatched his keys from the counter. "Get dressed and I'll take you home."

She came closer. "I don't mean to be a bitch. You were acting like a nice guy for a change, and I shouldn't have struck out like that. I really am sorry."

He didn't respond.

The dryer buzzer went off, and she knew there wasn't anything more she could say. He would either accept her apology or reject it.

She returned to the laundry room where she pulled out the pink dress. It was a dismal mass of wrinkles, testifying to its pre-permanent press origins, but since she had nothing else to wear, she pushed the door shut, slipped out of Gabe's robe, and stepped into it, wrinkles and all.

She had just pulled the dress over her arms when the door opened. She drew the bodice together and turned to him.

He looked hostile and unhappy: furrowed brow, tightly set lips, hands driven into the pockets of his jeans. "I just want to get one thing straight. I don't need anybody's pity, especially yours."

She dropped her gaze to her buttons, because it was easier than meeting his eyes, and began fastening them. "I don't pity you, exactly. You're too self-reliant for pity. But knowing that you lost your wife and son makes me feel sick."

He said nothing for a moment, but as she lifted her gaze, she saw that the tendons in his neck had relaxed. He pulled his hands from his pockets. His eyes drifted to her breasts, and she realized her fingers had stalled on the button there. She finished fastening it.

"What did you mean about Ethan coddling me?"

"Nothing. My mouth got away from me again."

"For God's sake, Rachel, could you just try to shoot straight with me for once!" He stalked away.

She frowned. He was as prickly as rusted barbed wire. She finished buttoning her dress as she followed him back to the kitchen, where he'd yanked on a Chicago Stars cap and was shoving on his sunglasses, obviously having forgotten that it was drizzling outside.

She walked over to him. Her full skirt brushed against the legs of his jeans, and she resisted the urge to curl her arm around his waist. "People talk to you as if they're afraid you're going to break apart at any minute. I don't think that's good for you; it keeps you from moving forward. You're a strong man. Everyone needs to remember that, including you."

"Strong!" He ripped off the sunglasses and sent them skittering across the counter. "You don't know anything about it." His cap hit the counter, then bounced to the floor.

She didn't back away. "You are, Gabe. You're tough."

"Don't confuse me with you!"

His footsteps punished the marble floor as he stalked past her and headed for the family room.

She'd been alone with pain too often herself to even think about letting him go. The family room was empty, but the sliding doors that led to the deck were open. As she walked toward them, she saw him standing outside clutching the railing as he stared up at Heartache Mountain.

The drizzle had changed to light rain, but he didn't seem to notice that he was getting wet. Beads of water glistened in his hair and darkened the shoulders of his T-shirt. She'd never seen anyone who looked lonelier, and she stepped out into the rain with him.

He gave no indication that he heard her coming up behind him, so that she wasn't quite prepared when he spoke. "I keep a gun by my bed, Rachel. And it's not there for protection."

"Oh, Gabe…"

Every part of her wanted to touch him and offer what comfort she could, but he seemed surrounded by an invisible barrier, one she was afraid to cross. Instead, she moved next to him and lay her arms over the wet railing. "Does it get any easier?"

"It was easier for a while. Then you showed up." "I've made it more difficult for you?"

He hesitated. "I don't know anymore. But you've changed things."

"And you don't like that."

"Maybe I like it too much." He finally turned to her. "I guess these past couple of weeks have been a little better. You've been a distraction."

She gave him a weak smile. "I'm glad."

He scowled, but there wasn't any real anger behind it. "I didn't say you'd been a good distraction. Just a distraction."

"I understand." Rain soaked her dress, but it was warmer out here than inside the air-conditioned house, and she wasn't cold.

"I miss her all the time." His eyes searched her face, and his voice grew deeper, huskier. "So why do I want you so much that I ache with it?"

The rumble of distant thunder accompanied his words, almost seemed part of them. A tremor passed through her. "I think… I think we've been drawn together by desperation."

"I can't give you a damn thing except sex."

"Maybe that's exactly what I need from you."

"You don't mean that."

"You don't know what I mean." Being so close was suddenly overwhelming, and she turned her back to him. Crossing her arms over her chest, she moved to the other side of the deck. Overhead, the sky hung low, while mist clung to the mountains like a tattered gray prom dress.

"I had my womanhood stolen from me, Gabe. On my wedding night he gave me a lecture right from the nineteenth century on how my body was God's vessel, and he'd disturb it as little as possible. He made me lie there. He didn't touch my breasts or caress me. He just pushed himself inside me. It hurt like hell, and I started to cry, and the more I cried the happier that made him because it was proof of my virtue, proof that I wasn't carnal like him. But that wasn't true. I'd been fascinated by sex for as long as I could remember. So don't try to tell me what I want."

"All right. I won't."

The deep sympathy in his voice was too much for her. She turned and frowned at him. "I don't know why I'm talking to you about this, why I'm even thinking about having sex with you. Considering, my luck with men, you're probably as big a dud in bed as he was."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile. "Could be."

She braced her hips against the railing. "Were you faithful to your wife?"

"Yes."

"Have you been with a lot of women?"

"No. I fell in love with her when I was fourteen."

He met her eyes, and she tried to understand what he was telling her. "Do you mean…"

"One woman, Rachel. There's only been one woman in my life."

"Not even anyone since she died?"

"A hooker in Mexico, but I sent her away as soon as she took off her clothes. You might be right about that dud thing."

She smiled, feeling strangely lighthearted. "Anybody else?"

He came toward her. "Nobody. And I think I've had my fill of questions for now."

"I've told you my entire sexual history, pathetic as it is. You could be a little more forthcoming."

"I haven't even thought much about sex since… for the last few years. At least not until you did your little striptease."

As he stopped in front of her, she tried not to let her embarrassment show. "I was desperate. I know I'm not much now, but I used to be pretty."

He touched her for the first time, picking up a lock of damp hair and hooking it behind her ear. "You're pretty, Rachel. Especially since you've started to eat. You've finally got some color in your cheeks."

She felt as if he were drinking in her face, and it flustered her. "Not to mention my cold nose. It's okay. You don't have to lie. All I'm saying is that I used to be fairly nice-looking."

"I was giving you a compliment."

"Which was the compliment part? The cold nose?"

"I didn't say a thing about a cold nose. You're the one. I-" He laughed. "You're the most maddening woman. I can't figure out why I like being with you."

"A thought for the day, Bonner. If the way you've been treating me is a mark of fondness, maybe you'd better take a fresh look at your interpersonal communication skills."

He smiled. "You're shivering."

"I'm cold," she lied.

"I guess I can take care of that." Once again, his hand went to her hair. He pushed his fingers through it on one side, then dropped his head and touched his lips to the corner of her jaw that he'd uncovered.

His body pressed against hers. She felt his lips on her cheek, and her arms wound around his waist, drawing him closer. Oh, yes… She absorbed the feel of him, the way the muscles in his back flexed beneath her palms, the heat from his chest against her chill breasts, his erection jammed against her. Just beneath the fragile layer of her skin, her pulses hammered.

His lips tugged her earlobe, and the sound of his breathing rasped in her ear. Her eyes drifted shut. She had so much at stake here. If she let this go farther, there would be no tender romance with him, only sex. Could she abandon the fantasy of a perfect love?

But then she realized she had abandoned that fantasy long ago. Somehow her life had grown too spartan for fantasies. She'd stripped her existence down to the bare essentials, not allowing herself even the smallest of luxuries. Would it be so terrible to grab something just for herself? Something that would give her pleasure?

He moved a few inches back, and his palms covered her breasts. As his warmth seeped into her skin, her uncertainty disappeared.

His thumbs brushed her nipples and his voice became a husky whisper in her ear. "I've been wanting to touch you here ever since I walked into the house and saw you standing there in this wet pink dress."

He scraped his thumbnails over the hard tips. She let out a sigh of pleasure. It felt so good. So perfect.

Back and forth his thumbnails went, abrading her through the wet pink cotton. Desire exploded inside her. Spirals of heat coursed through her blood, and she wanted more.

She touched him through his jeans, tentatively at first, then stroking him more aggressively, trying to discern his exact structure beneath the denim.

His breathing grew harsh. She wanted more. She reached for his zipper.

He stepped back as if she'd hurt him. His chest heaved, and he choked out his words. "Maybe we'd better slow down."

Only seconds earlier she'd been hot, but now a chill passed through her. She heard restraint in his voice, so familiar from her marriage, and he continued as he spoke again. "I don't want to rush you into anything you're not ready for."

That awful consideration. That horrible, stifling solicitude as if she weren't capable of making up her mind, as if she were breakable, untouchable, undefilable. Not a woman at all.

She'd spilled her guts to him, but he hadn't understood a thing.

"You're still new at this." He put more distance between them and ran the flat of his hand absentminedly over his chest, as if he were smoothing his T-shirt. "Let's go inside."

She wanted to slug him and scream at him and burst into tears all at once. Why had she expected him to understand? She couldn't contain her hurt. "I'm not a virgin! And there's nothing you could do that'd be too raunchy for me, do you understand? Nothing that's too kinky! You've screwed this up, Bonner, and now you aren't ever going to touch me." Her anger boiled, then spilled over. "As a matter of fact, you can go to hell!"

She whirled around and shot down the slippery wooden steps to the lawn. It was wildly overgrown. Shrubbery hung over the flagstone path and grass tangled around her ankles as she fled.

"Rachel!"

She'd left her shoes in the laundry room, but she didn't care. She'd climb Heartache Mountain barefoot before she'd let another man treat her like she was some kind of sexually neutered icon.

Her hands knotted into fists at her side, and she realized she didn't want to run away at all. What she really wanted to do was go right back there and tell him what an insensitive, unfeeling, imperceptive ass he was!

She spun around and stalked toward the deck, only to see him doing his own war dance right toward her. As he approached, his teeth were clenched. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a little bit?"

She wanted to shout something really obscene at him, but she wasn't too effective with obscenity yet. A few more weeks in his company, though, and she could probably turn pro. "Stuff yourself."

In three long strides, he had her. He grabbed the front of her dress and began pulling open the top buttons. He looked annoyed, irritated, but not actually angry.

He peeled the dress apart. "You want kinky? I'll tell you about kinky. Do you know there are men in this world who get their kicks by bringing a woman right to the point of orgasm, and then, at the exact moment she comes, strangling her to death!"

He jerked the dress down, baring her to the waist as he trapped her arms in the fabric. Then he bent his head and bit her on the inner slope of one breast.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Good. Any more trouble out of you, and I'll do it again."

His lips nuzzled her wet nipple, and her anger fled.

"Now where was I?" he asked.

She shuddered at the huskiness in his voice, the warmth of his breath on her cool skin. "Oh, Gabe… What if you screw this up again?"

"Then I guess you'll just have to keep after me till I get it right."

"I guess." She sighed and rested her cheek against his chest.

"In the meantime, you might be thinking about exactly how wide you can spread those legs because I intend to spend a long time between them."

She moaned. Maybe he'd gotten it right after all.