Roomful of Roses Read online

  "And what else?"

  "Nothing else!" She tossed down her purse and glared at him, getting some of her wind back. "What business is it of

  yours how late I stay out? And how dare you give my fiance the third degree!"

  "My, how your eyes do sparkle when you get mad," he murmured approvingly.

  "Stop that," she muttered. "Besides, to interrupt us like that -"

  "Missing your good-night kiss, honey?"

  He chuckled, moving closer. "Come here, and I'll take care of it for Andy. It's the least I can do."

  "Don't you dare!" she exclaimed as he reached for her. She pushed at his broad chest, but he only tugged her closer. She aimed a kick at his leg, but he sidestepped, getting his long, undamaged leg between both of hers in a hold that was disturbingly intimate.

  "Trying to kick an injured man," he laughed. "Shame on you."

  "Let go of me, then," she panted, struggling.

  "Not yet," he murmured, bending her down over the broad back of the sofa, so that her torso was laid against it helplessly. "Ah," he whispered, lowering his head, "I always wanted to try it like this."

  Before she could ask what he meant, he was showing her. His mouth opened slightly before he slid it against her lips, and his eyes stayed open the whole time, watching her.

  "McCabe!" she burst out, feeling trapped and shocked and just a little apprehensive.

  "Don't start having the vapors," he breathed against her lips. "I just want to kiss you."

  "You mustn't ... not like this," she whispered.

  His hands moved hers over her head as his chest eased down over hers, and he chuckled at the gasp that escaped her. "Mmm, isn't this erotic?" he whispered. "Making love on the back of a sofa."

  "Stop!" she burst out.

  "Stop what?" he asked. His cheek moved against hers as his lips smoothed over soft skin, down into the neck of her shirt. "You smell of gardenia. Sultry and sweet and womanly." His nose rubbed softly against hers and the feel of him was beginning to do the wildest kinds of things to her pulse. She felt her breasts flattening under the crush of his chest, smelled the tangy scent of cologne and soap, felt the warm abrasive brush of his jaw. Her hands touched his cheeks hesitantly before they moved up into the cool thickness of his blond hair.

  "That's it, darling," he whispered. "Now, just relax and let me show you how...."

  His mouth coaxed hers open with a tantalizing pressure that made her wild with need long before he satisfied it. She opened her eyes lazily, her mouth following his helplessly, hungrily, her breath coming fast and hard in her throat as she looked up at him.

  His eyes smiled down at her just as she felt the hard, hungry crush of his mouth in a tiny consummation that satisfied the spiraling hunger and created an even more monstrous one.

  It was the wildest sensation she'd ever felt. Like flying into the sun. She arched up against him, surging with hungers she'd suppressed all her life, until this moment.

  He lifted his head to look at her, and all the teasing was gone. "Andy wouldn't dream of something this pagan, would he, Wynn?" he breathed roughly. "He'll kiss you at the door and think you're satisfied. But I won't." His mouth caught hers, a little bruisingly. "I'll wrestle you down on sofas or sand or fur rugs and raise hot desires in you. And then I'll drag you into the inferno with me and watch you burn up." His mouth slid down her throat, onto her soft breasts, and she cried out at the unfamiliar, frightening sensation as the touch penetrated the layers of fabric. It was like skin on skin, and her fingernails dug into the nape of his neck painfully.

  He jerked up, his eyes glittering as they met hers, and he smiled slowly when he recognized the hot wildness in her gaze. "You're passionate, Wynn. Andy isn't. And that's what's eating you up. Because I can match you, and he can't."

  It was like a dash of cold water. Her eyes lost their eagerness and flashed with anger. She aimed a slap at his face, but he caught her hand and pressed the palm to his mouth.

  "Let me up!" she burst out, struggling until she could roll out from under the weight of his chest. She got away and stood glaring at him, her eyes wild, her hair a glorious tangle, her very posture expressing fury.

  He straightened, grimacing as he put pressure on his game leg. But then he grinned. "Greenhorn," he accused with a laugh. "You didn't even know how to kiss. And you're supposed to be an engaged woman?"

  "Andy respects me," she panted.

  "I respect you, too. Take your clothes off and I'll show you how much," he said with a stage leer.

  "Shame on you!" she burst out.

  "Respect has a different meaning for tne," he told her. "I respect you enough to want all of you, not just your mind. A man who could spend several weeks engaged to you without progressing further than kisses is no prize, Wynn. Better you should discover that now than after you're married. You took fire when I kissed your -"

  "Stop!" she burst out, preventing the word even as it was forming on his mouth.

  "Well, you do get the idea, don't you?"

  He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, watching her all the while. "You're sweet to make love to."

  "I'm going to bed!" she burst out, defeated.

  "Without kissing me good night?"

  She almost threw something at him. But she couldn't think of anything big enough to make a dent in his monumental arrogance, so she turned and stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door violently.

  The next morning after a miserable night, she put on her most demure every day dress, a green shirtwaist, with spiked heels, and put up her hair. It gave her confidence, and she was going to need every ounce she had to cope with McCabe. She walked into the dining room, where McCabe was sitting calmly drinking coffee.

  "Good morning," she said quietly. "Did you sleep well? How's your leg?"

  "I'll live," he said, watching her. "Are we into disguises this morning?" he added.

  She glared at him. "I'm wearing my working clothes."

  He laughed softly. "Are you?" He checked his watch. "We'd better get into the office," he said finally, rising. He was wearing gray slacks with a gray-and-white striped pullover shirt, and he looked male and vibrant.

  "Sure," she said, quickly finishing her coffee. "I've got a meeting with the mayor at ten to discuss that new water system he's trying to sell to the city council. Will you want me to drive you to the Rotary Club meeting at noon? Ed always goes."

  "Jess can drop me off on his way to lunch and Kelly can pick me up on his way to the office," he said.

  He climbed into the Volkswagen with her, watching her like a hawk all the way to the office.

  "Is my makeup smudged or something?" she asked as she parked in front of the Courier building.

  He shook his head. "I'm trying to puzzle you out, honey," he drawled, and his gray eyes were narrow and intent.

  "I wouldn't waste my time, if I were you," she murmured. "After all, you'll be gone before long. Back to what you love

  most." And she was out of the car before he had time for a reply.

  Wynn was out on the streets minutes later. She stopped by city hall to check out a rumor about a drug bust the night before, and found that it was just that. She took a photo of a lushly blooming dogwood tree with two little girls in sundresses under it as a human-interest piece. Then she went to the mayor's hardware store in town to interview him about the water system.

  "We're growing fast, you know, Wynn," Harry Lawson told her, a twinkle in his black eyes as he leaned back in his office chair. "We're only using about two hundred thousand gallons of water a day right now, but as we add industry, that figure is going to increase. We have to have a permit to draw water out of the river, and if we don't up our allocation and update our pumping equipment and treatment facilities right now, we may be out in the cold as the water need increases statewide."

  "Industry has to have water to operate, and lots of it, doesn't it?" she asked, pen poised over pad.

  He nodded. "It depends on the industry. A chicke
n-processing plant of moderate size would pull around a million gallons a day alone. And a heavy-water-using industry would probably keep our water department in the black for a change."

  "What condition are we in right now?" Wynn continued.

  The mayor sighed. "You've tasted our city water you tell me. The whole water system is deteriorating. We've let it go for years without any major repairs and now we're paying for it. That's one reason I've asked for emergency funds from the governor's office to take care of the immediate problem. But beyond that, we've got to expand while we can still get the water allocation we need. And that will cost money."

  "Is it really a health hazard, the way it is?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. "And you can print that. Now, here's what we plan to do if we get our emergency money," he added, and began to outline the immediate improvements that had to be made.

  "What are your long-range goals?"

  He grinned. "Well, if we're going to get more water, we have to be able to utilize it.

  "What you're suggesting is that we add another pumping station and additional treatment facilities and expand our water system out into the county," she continued.

  "That's right. The more water consumers we bring in, the more revenue we bring in. I don't have to tell you that our water system runs in the red."

  "But the taxpayers will ultimately foot the bill for the expansion," she challenged.

  "Progress costs," he returned. "If we don't grow, we die. That isn't much of a choice, is it?"

  She grinned. "Nope."

  When they finished the interview she went out to the city water department and did a photo layout on the existing facility and called the city engineering firm in Ashton to request a drawing of the proposed system. Then she called a few local citizens at random to ask what they thought of the expansion project. It took the rest of the day to do that and write the story. But when she was through, it was enough, with the pictures and drawings, to very nearly cover half of the front page.

  "I," she told McCabe at quitting time, "am a genius. I have single-handedly saved you six gray hairs worrying about what to put on the front page by doing a super story on the proposed water system."

  "Let's have it."

  She handed it to him and watched while he read over her copy and frowned.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, nervous.

  He glanced up. "The mayor is proposing to finance this with a government grant?"

  "Part of it," she agreed. "With another bit to come out of the governor's emergency fund and some assistance from the regional commission."

  "That's still going to leave a tidy sum owing," he said.

  "He plans to float revenue bonds for that."

  He studied her. "You've done your homework," he said with grudging admiration. "What do you know about water usage north of here?"

  "I know that Atlanta and surrounding metropolitan counties are going to be pulling almost four hundred million gallons of water per day by the turn of the century," she told him. "I've got a study on it in my desk."

  He grinned slowly. "Good girl. Okay, we'll do it, with pix, as the lead story, unless something bigger comes along by 'Tuesday."

  "I told you I was a genius." She grinned.

  His hand caught in the hair at the nape of her neck. "You're more than that," he breathed, his mouth poised over hers. "I'll ask you again. Want to try it on the desk?"

  Her mouth parted as she tried to get words out, just as Judy walked in and cleared her throat. "Uh, Mr. Foxe, telephone," she said.

  Wynn fought to get herself back together while McCabe talked to a potential advertiser.

  "I'll send Wynn over to talk to you, Mack," he told whoever was on the other end of the line.

  Her poise fell apart. "But it's quitting time," she protested.

  "In the morning," he added to the customer. "Sure. Thanks for calling. So long." He hung up. "You ought to know we don't go by banker's hours here," he reminded Wynn.

  "I'm tired," she muttered.

  "I'm feeling a little low myself," he agreed, studying her. "We'll all call it a day.

  They were no sooner home than the phone rang. McCabe picked it up, listened, glared at it and handed it to Wynn.

  "It's Romeo," he growled. "Don't tie up the line, if you don't mind. I've got a call coming through from New York."

  He hobbled off and she glared at his retreating back.

  "Hello?" Andy mumbled.

  "Hello, Andy," she said.

  "You didn't get into any trouble last night, did you?" he asked. "I meant to call sooner, but I got tied up."

  "I'm fine," she replied.

  "Good. McCabe looked ... I wish you'd get him out of the house, Wynn."

  "Why don't you come and do it for me?" she asked with venomous sweetness.

  He cleared his throat. "I've got to do some paperwork," he said. "How about dinner next Friday?"

  "Sure."

  "See you soon, darling," he said. "Goodbye."

  "Good-bye," she mumbled into the phone, wondering all the while how in the world she'd managed to get tangled up with a man like Andy in the first place. Not that she was going to admit that to McCabe.

  He glared at her when she joined him in the kitchen, where he was putting mayontiaise on slices of bread.

  "My, my, you do have long conversations with your loved one, don't you?" he asked.

  Her nostrils flared. "You did ask me to keep it brief. Besides, what I have with Andy is, as I seem to remind you constantly, none of your business."

  "Like hell it's not," he said. "You aren't marrying him."

  "Would you like to bet on it?" she asked pleasantly.

  "Why bet on a sure thing?" he asked, glancing at her with maddening humor.

  "Shut up and help me make the sandwiches."

  She glowered at him while she layered pastrami and swiss cheese on the bread, along with sliced tomatoes and lettuce. He was close to her, and she could feel the warmth of his body, the heat that radiated from him. It brought back memories of being crushed between his hard chest and the back of the sofa, and she knew that she'd never again be able to look at that piece of furniture without blushing. Perhaps she'd sell it when he left.

  Her eyes lifted to his profile. "That phone call you're expecting," she said uneasily. "It wouldn't be from your wire service?"

  He glanced down at her, frowning. "Of course."

  She lowered her gaze to the sandwiches, cutting them in half with tremendous concentration.

  "Wynn, I'm still on the payroll," he said quietly. "I'm taking a leave of absence, that's all."

  "Yes, of course," she said, wondering why it mattered so much that he planned to risk his life again.

  He laid down his knife and turned to her, and she could feel his eyes on the top of her head. "I'm a reporter," he said. "A writer. I do a job that I love, and I'm lucky enough to get paid for it."

  "You don't have to explain it to me," she said tautly.

  He tilted her face up to his. "Don't I?"

  He searched her face for a long moment.

  "I like everything up front. I'm here for a rest, and to help you get sorted out. Then I'll go where they send me. Back to Central America, or to the Middle East where that new violence has broken out, or to the Far East ... wherever the job calls me. I'd prefer to stay in Central America, but I take the assignments I'm given."

  Her eyes searched his. "You write adventure novels, too," she reminded him coolly.

  "You've made the best-seller list several times."

  "And someday I'll write novels for the rest of my life, and I'll enjoy that, too. But, Wynn," he murmured, cupping her face in his hands, "I'm still a young man. Too young and too restless to settle down. I don't want any ties."

  "I'm young too," she reminded him.

  "But I want a husband and a family. And Andy is -"

  His face closed up, his eyes darkened. "Andy is a first-class stick in the mud. I want someone better for you."

 
"What did you plan on doing, kidnapping someone?" she asked politely. "For heaven's sake, I'm a grown woman!"

  "Some woman," he scoffed, searching her face. "You didn't even know how to kiss."

  "Thank you for remedying that small fault," she said, eyes flashing. "Now that I know, I'll teach Andy. It should be fascinating!"

  His nostrils flared, his hands on her face tightened. "You can't teach passion to a man," he said curtly. "Either it's there or it isn't."