Heaven's Price Part 9

Out of sight, out of mind. Put the temptation off limitsthat had been her resolution as she dragged herself from her bed this morning. Now it was being put to the test.

"I can drive myself over if you give me directions. I'm sure you have other work to do." Leaving the table, she went to the sink to rinse out her cup. She didn't care if the cup were rinsed out or not, but it gave her a feasible excuse to turn her back on him. She found him too d.a.m.ned attractive. His jeans were too tight across his loins, his thighs and s.e.x too well defined. The polo shirt conformed to the tapering of his waist from the broad sculptured curves of his shoulders and upper chest.

"Today's Sat.u.r.day. I usually don't work on Sat.u.r.day.

"Well then you wouldn't want to take me over there because that would be work for you. I'll go by myself either today or tomorrow."

"But you won't be able to get into the building because . .." He fished in the front pocket of his jeans, something she wished he wouldn't do because it stretched the cotton even tighter across his masculinity. "Because I have the only key."

Her relief that he had accomplished his task was exchanged for irritation. He was dangling the single key on the bra.s.s ring inches in front of her eyes. "I guess it's too much to hope for that you would simply turn the key over to me.

His mustache drooped in parody of a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry." His sparkling eyes said other wise.

"Um-huh. I'm sure you're just eaten up with grief."

His mustache then spread wide over a huge white smile. "Come on.

Let's go. Have you had breakfast? How about picking up a dozen donuts on the way?"

"Donuts!" she exclaimed. "If I eat breakfast at all, I have a carton of plain yogurt."

He shrugged. "I can tell that enticing you off the straight and narrow into a life of sin and corruption is going to take some work. Come on."

Barely giving her time to grab her purse, he hauled her out of the apartment, carried her down the stairs and put her in the front seat of his ancient pickup truck.

"You don't have to try to impress me," she said sarcastically as she critically eyed the cracked vinyl upholstery with tufts of cotton sprouting from it like blossoms. The bare metal floor was littered with blueprints long used and forgotten and a variety of tools, some of which Blair couldn't identify.

Sean only grinned as he ground the truck into gear and it chugged out of the driveway. "Love me, love my truck."

Negating her protests, he stopped at a bakery to purchase a sack full of donuts. He stowed it on the seat between them, and Blair's stomach growled when the yeasty aroma filled the cab of the truck. Sean roared with laughter. He stopped at a convenience store and bought a quart of milk, then they bounced through the streets in the derelict truck to the vacant building he was donating for her use as a studio.

Leaving their breakfast for later, he came around to lift her down from the truck and carry her to the door of the building. "This isn't necessary, Sean," she said as he followed the sidewalk rather than taking the well-worn path across the dried gra.s.s.

"That's debatable since I saw the pain on your face last night, but in any event it allows me to get my hands on you.

She hadn't wanted to admit how she had looked forward to being held in his arms. She loved the feel of his hard chest against her side.

Her arms had quite naturally encircled his neck to lock just beneath the strands of hair that brushed his collar. The touch of his bare arm under her bare legs sent electric currents through her body. The hand belonging to the arm that supported her back folded around her side to lightly touch her breast with his fingertips.

"Besides, what's a little familiarity between good friends?" he whispered in her ear.

She immediately lowered her arms and was annoyed when he only laughed.

He set her down gently, making sure her leg wasn't going to give way as it had done the night before. He inserted the key in the lock and said by way of warning, " It doesn t look like much, so don't panic.

Give me a week or so and I'll have it in tip-top shape."

He was right to warn her. Otherwise her gasp of horror might have been even louder than it was. The place was a disaster. The floor could barely be seen because of the discarded lumber and debris that obscured it. Great chunks of plaster had fallen from the ceiling. The walls were scarred and gouged for reasons Blair could only guess at. The whole room looked as if it had been pillaged by an enraged giant and left to give testimony of his temper.

She turned to look up at Sean helplessly, dismay written on every feature, her green eyes clouded with bewilderment. He placed a rea.s.suring arm around her shoulder. "Chin up. I told you not to panic."

"But this . . . this is impossible."

"Never say impossible. You should see some of the before' pictures of houses I've restored. They've had a century or better to deteriorate.

This building has only had about forty years." He laughed at her stupefaction. "First thing Monday morning, I'll get a wrecking crew to haul off everything that isn't nailed down. A wall man will come in and do those repairs, a ceiling man will do that, etc. Do the floors look okay?"

He shoved a pile of wormy lumber aside to let her see the floor beneath. She knelt down. "Yes, I think so."

"Someone will sand and revarnish it. The skylight looks intact and weatherproof, but I'll check it."

Now that the initial shock had worn off, she began to recognize a few of the room's merits. She gazed up at the skylight that ran the length of the room. "I like that," she said. "There's nothing worse than a dreary studio."

"What will you need, Blair? I confess to total ignorance as to what a dance studio should look like."

"One wall will need to be mirrored." As she talked, he took mental notes. "A barre of course. I think I can give you possibilities of where to find these types of things in the city."

"Okay. What else?"

"I guess there should be some sort of dressing room.

"There's a large one in the back with toilets and showers. I'll see that they're renovated and in working order. There's also a small office you can use. You may want to lock up your record player, records, and whatever else you use in there. I'll fix it up."

"Sean," she said worriedly. "I hate for you to go to any expense on this. And I know it's going to cost you a lot of money. I think I should tell Pam that this isn't going to work.

"You let me worry about the expense. I volunteered the building.

It's not doing anyone any good just sitting here rotting. It's an eye sore. It might just as well be a studio for dance cla.s.ses."

"But it's so temporary," she cried.

"Is it?" His eyes seemed to blaze into her brain.

For a moment she was stunned into silence by his piercing gaze.

"Yes.

As soon as I can, I'm resuming my career in the city," she said adamantly.

"Then you shouldn't be concerned about what I do in the meantime," he said coldly. "I told you last night I bought this building with the intention of one day converting it into a health club. This will be only the first renovation. I consider it an investment."

Stung by his biting words and hostile att.i.tude, she turned away from him and picked her way through the rubbish on the floor. She had to put distance between them. s.p.a.ce. Air. She couldn't think clearly around him. For a heartbeat, when he had prodded her, she had been uncertain that returning to her work was what she wanted. Of course it was!

That's all she lived for. But the incident only pointed up to her how his sensuality jeopardized her sound judgment.

The more she explored the room, the more impossible seemed the task to convert it into anything, much less a place in which to teach dance. Sean went on his own expedition, thumping the walls periodically to find beams and locate hollow places.

Blair reached the door to the small office Sean had mentioned and after some hard shoving, it swung open. She had peered through the dusty gla.s.s on the top part of the door to see that the room was as littered and filthy as the rest of the building, so she wasn't surprised by the musty smell that a.s.sailed her nostrils.

What she didn't expect was the scurrying family of mice that scattered in every direction when the opening door roused them. Only Blair's piercing scream prevented one from running over her sandaled feet.

She went on screaming as the terrified mouse changed direction, his tail whipping behind him, to streak under the army green metal filing cabinet in the corner.

"Blair?" Sean shouted in alarm and came hurdling over the piles of debris toward her.

She, in turn, fairly flew over the unsteady floor, heedless of the danger she was courting for her injuries.

"Be careful, Blair," Sean cautioned. "Don't...Wait...' She vaulted into his chest, arms clasping around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist as he caught her to him. She buried her face in his throat.

Hurriedly he carried her to the less littered place near the door. He stroked her hair with one hand while supporting her bottom with the other. She was trembling. Her breath hiccuped against the skin of his throat.

"Shhhh. It's okay. I've got you." He murmured into her hair, holding her tight. "What was it? Snake? Spider? Rat? " She raised a chalky face toward his. Her green eyes were wide with horror. "Rats? G.o.d.

I thought they were mice. Rats?" She shuddered and, squeezing her eyes shut, lay her face against the strong column of his neck again.

"It may have been only mice and I'll bet they were as frightened of you as you were of them."

She shook her head. "I hate things like that. Little things with beady eyes that scurry furtively. Why anyone would ever want a white rat or a gerbil or anything like that for a pet has always been beyond my comprehension.

"I promise never to give you anything smaller than a Bernard for a gift."

She realized then that he was speaking directly into ear. That his mouth had pushed aside her hair and was leaving a damp vapor on her skin. His mustache was caressing the side of her neck and his teeth were gently sc.r.a.ping her skin.

She lifted her head and pushed away from him as far as she could.

"I feel like a fool, acting the way I did, flying at you like that."

"I a.s.sure you I didn't mind." His eyes were glinting with teasing lights and his mouth was tilted into a self-satisfied smile.

Blair then became painfully aware of their position. His hands were cupped under her hips as he held her against him. Her ankles were locked behind his back at his waist. She blushed hotly at the implicit juxtaposition of their bodies.

"I . . . I'm fine now. You can let me down."

"It's no trouble. Really," he said sincerely.

"Sean," she said threateningly and he laughed.

"At least let me get you out of here." He carried her that way until they had pa.s.sed through the door. She tried to avoid his eyes that stared directly into hers. He was enjoying every movement, every jostle, every brush of his body against hers. Once through the door, he regretfully lowered her to the concrete and turned to relock the door. By the time he was finished, she was halfway to the truck.

"I'm supposed to carry you," he called to her.

"I've told you, I'm fine. If I don't exercise these legs, they'll get stiff."

She thought she heard him mumble a vicious curse, but she pulled herself up into the cab of the truck and slammed the screeching door behind her. If he had touched her again she would have exploded and disintegrated, never to be restored to Blair Simpson again. The fragments of her might be a.s.sembled into someone else, but if she let him touch her once more the way every cell in her body was clamoring to be touched, she would never belong to herself again. She would be lost.

He started the truck and said conversationally, "Don't worry about the restoration. In a few days, you won't recognize the place."

"I hope not," she said grouchily. How could he be so casual when she was quaking on the inside? Was he accustomed to holding women in his arms, to having them melt against him with no regard to propriety, morality, or decency? Did he go blithely on his way after each embrace as though nothing had happened?

"And the first thing I'll do is set some traps so it will be completely mouse free."

"Thanks," she said curtly.

"Still hungry or did fright take away your appet.i.te as well as your good humor? " he asked, swinging the pickup into the lane leading to the township's small munic.i.p.al park. She ignored his jibe, sitting stonily at his side as he pulled under the sprawling branches of an oak and cut the choking motor of the truck. "Breakfast is served, Madam," he said in the somber deadpan tones of a stuffy butler.

"Go to h.e.l.l," she said, but already the corners of her mouth were twitching with the need to laugh.

"Tsk, tsk, no earthy language. I may stop respecting you. And if I ever stop respecting you, look out." His index finger trailed her inner thigh upward from her knee. She caught his hand just before it reached the leg of her shorts.

She wished her voice held more conviction and wasn't shaking so when she said, "Well, I've never respected you."

She had to put her shoulder to the door before it would open and then she nearly fell out of the truck in a headlong plunge when it came free.

He was still laughing when he joined her at the picnic table, bringing the carton of milk and the sack of donuts with him. "That was a graceful step. What do you do for an encore?"

She sputtered searching for a comeback, was chagrined to find that she couldn't form one, and joined in his laughter as she climbed onto the redwood table. He dug into the sack and produced a glazed donut.

"For you." When he saw she was about to decline, he glared at her menacingly.

"Maybe just half," she conceded.

"No, no. We've got Bavarian cream filled and chocolate covered when we get through with these," he said, closing his strong white teeth into half of his donut.

She managed to eat two, licking her fingers of the Bavarian cream much to his delight. When they were done, he tossed the crumbs onto the ground. "You don't have an aversion to birds, do you? They have beady eyes.

"But they don't scurry."

"That's true," he said, smiling and brushing his hands free of crumbs.

They watched as a flock of sparrows greedily attacked that unexpected treat. "Ready for some milk?" he asked, opening the carton.

"Just a sip. Do we have cups?"

"Cups!?" he asked in feigned mortification. "What's the fun of eating outside if you use conventional symbols of civilization like cups?"

He handed her the carton.

She eyed the V-shaped spout warily. "I don't think this fits my mouth, but here goes." She swallowed a mouthful before she felt twin rivers of milk dribbling down each corner of her mouth to her chin. Lowering the carton, she laughed, trying to wipe up the dripping milk with her hands.

Her wrists were manacled by strong fingers. He hopped off the table to stand in front of her. "Allow me." He watched entranced as the two rivulets of milk funneled into one and rolled down her chest to form a creamy drop on the top curve of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

He stared at the drop for a long time before he lowered his head and lifted it from her skin with his tongue. He heard her short, soft huff of pleasure and smiled against the skin under his lips. Leisurely, he kissed away all remnants of the milk, using his tongue to bathe away any residue. He worked his way up her chest to her neck, taking an excessive amount of time, devoting far more skill to the ch.o.r.e than it warranted.

Reaching her mouth after long minutes, he licked at her lips lightly with his tongue, torturing her by not doing more. When he pulled back slightly he heard her moan of protest. "All clean," he said, barely making a sound with the words.

Blair felt suspended by tenuous threads over a vat of boiling desire.

One by one she had felt those threads snap as Sean's mouth had tantalized each feminine instinct in her body and brought her senses to acute attention. Now t she felt it was predestined that she fall into that roiling abyss and be absorbed by it.