Finding the Dream

  She took him into her mouth, clamped him in a wet velvet vice and shot his system into chaos.

  His hands fisted in her hair as his body bucked under her. When her mouth cruised up to his belly again, over quaking muscle, he was ready to kill to have her.

  Still gripping her hair, he yanked her head back, reared up. She felt one shocking jolt at the dark burn of his eyes, then his mouth was clamped on hers.

  "I didn't say you could touch me." She panted it out as his lips branded her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. "You didn't beg."

  "I need you." He found her with his hand, shoved her over the peak he was still clinging to. "Now. Goddamn it, take me in."

  Triumphant, she threw her head back, and her laugh was rich and wild. Locking her legs around his waist, she arched back, "Yes." Bowed like a bridge when he drove himself into her.

  She cried out, no longer surprised but shuddering nonetheless over the speed and violence of the orgasm. She arrowed up again, her body locked to his, her hips pumping.

  "More," she demanded, tearing nails down his back. "Michael. More."

  Blind with greed, she shoved him back, dug her hands into his waist, and took more.

  The storm raged through him, whipping toward peak, but he could see her. Rising and falling over him, her eyes closed to heated slits, her head back in abandon. The animal inside him mated with hers until she'd ridden both to exhaustion.

  Through hazy vision he saw her melt down on him. And felt the quakes of the aftershocks rush through her. His own body felt bruised, numbed, weightless so that he wasn't even aware that his arms were locked tight around her, like a man holding everything that mattered.

  "Told you I could do it," she murmured, turning her lips to his throat.

  "Yeah, you sure showed me." He pressed his lips to her hair, wallowed there. "Laura." He said her name quietly, almost to himself. Then closed his eyes and tried, for both their sakes, not to hear the rest of it. I love you. Love you.

  "You wanted me."

  "Yes. I wanted you." Her hair smelled like sunlight, weakened him all over again.

  "Will you do something for me, Michael?"

  "Yeah." Anything. Terrifying thought. Anything.

  "Will you carry me to bed? I'm still drunk."

  "Sure, baby. Just hold on." He rose with her, a feat that even in her impaired state made her heart flutter.

  "And one more thing." Her head dropped limply against his shoulder, and when she moaned he had panicked visions of finding a basin to shove under her face before she was sick.

  "Okay, don't worry. I'll take care of you. It'll be fine."

  "All right." Warm and soft and trusting, she curled into him, then blinked against sudden hard light. "What? What?" Her head cocked curiously. "Why are we in the bathroom?"

  "It's the handiest place to be sick. Go ahead and toss up that wine, sugar, you'll feel better."

  "I'm not going to toss up perfectly good champagne." She wrapped her arms tighter when he tried to set her down. "I'm not going to be sick." Then she flopped back, dead weight, like a woman in a faint and laughed until it echoed off the walls. "Oh, that's so sweet. You were going to hold my head while I vomited. God, Michael." She raised up again, kissed him sloppily. "You're the cutest thing. Just so cute and sweet I could eat you right up. My hero."

  Embarrassed, he narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I'll just stick your head in the toilet anyway. If you're not going to lose the champagne and chocolate, what do you want?"

  "I told you to carry me to bed. I would think it would be obvious." Smiling, she traced a finger down his chest. "I want you to want me again. If it wouldn't be an imposition."

  He glanced down at her, warm, rosy, naked female. His female. "I guess I could manage that."

  "Good, and do you think you could, well…" She leaned over and whispered something in his ear that made his blood take a quick trip to his loins.

  "That's pretty inappropriate behavior, but…" He made a beeline for the bed. "Under the circumstances…"

  Chapter Eighteen

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  Experiencing a first hangover, Laura discovered, wasn't nearly as much fun as experiencing a first drunk. Instead of having a head filled with light and color and gloriously rambling ideas, she had one crammed with noise—along the lines of a poorly directed high school band, with the percussion section banging away gleefully at her left temple.

  Her system didn't feel free and floaty, but clogged, the way her mouth seemed clogged with enough dirt to make half a dozen mud pies.

  She was grateful that Michael had left her alone rather than witness the humiliation.

  She wouldn't think about the fact that she'd spent the night in his bed and now would have to stagger into the house, where her family and the staff would shoot her questioning looks.

  She tried to drown those unmerciful drummers under the shower, then bit down on her lip when she realized the new sound she heard was her own whimpering.

  Under normal circumstances she would never have gone through any of Michael's things, but she finished up a fumbling search through the mirrored medicine cabinet and bathroom drawers and nearly wept when she found a bottle of aspirin.

  She took four, another break in tradition; then, deciding she couldn't be much more intrusive, used his toothbrush.

  She didn't look in the mirror until she'd dressed, and even then it was a mistake. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes smudged and swollen. And as she didn't have so much as a tube of lipstick with her, there was nothing she could do about it.

  Knowing she had to get it over with, she stepped outside and moaned quietly as the sunlight sent hot little spears into her eyes. Her head didn't feel like the practice field for a marching band now; now it felt like glass. Very thin, very fragile glass. And it was balanced precariously on her neck.

  "How's it going, sugar?"

  She winced, jerked. Her head fell off, smashed on the steps at her feet. Thank God she had another one. She turned it, struggled to smile as Michael dusted his hands on his hips and walked toward her.

  "Good morning. I'm sorry I didn't hear you get up."

  "The way you were sawing them off, I figured you'd sleep till noon."

  The insult of the headache faded. Snore? She certainly did not snore. She wouldn't dignify such a lie with a comment. "I have to be at the shop in a couple of hours."

  "You're working today?" She didn't look to be in any shape for it to him. "Give yourself a break, Laura, and go crawl back into bed."

  "Saturdays are our busiest day."

  He shrugged his shoulders. Her choice. "How's the head?"

  "Which one?" Now she did smile, a little. Certainly a man like Michael would understand hangovers. "It's bad, but no longer unbearable."

  "Next time you go on a bender, chug plenty of water and pop a couple aspirin before you pass out. It usually helps take the edge off the morning after."

  "I don't intend to have a next time, but thanks."

  "Now that might be a shame." He trailed a finger over the back of her hand. "You make a very inventive drunk. How's the memory?"

  Her blood must have been moving still, for she felt it rise up to sting her cheeks. "It's good. A little too good. I certainly wouldn't have—I can't believe that I—" She shut up, closed her eyes. "You can stop me anytime from making a total fool of myself."

  "I kinda like it. Come here." He drew her against him, cradling her aching head on his shoulder. "Ice water," he murmured. "Stick your face right into a bowl of ice water, try to get some food in your system, then you just have to tough out the rest of it."

  "Okay." She'd have preferred just staying there for the rest of her life. "I have to go. I shouldn't have slept here last night." With her face pressed against him she didn't see the disappointment and the hurt shadow his. "I can't imagine what everyone will think."

  "Right." His eyes were impassive again when he drew her away. "You go on and shore up the damage to the Templeton name."
>
  "I didn't mean—"

  "Forget it." He wasn't going to let it touch him. "Forget it," he repeated. "Why don't you go riding with me tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow?'' She pressed her fingers to her eyes. If she didn't get them out of the sun soon they were going to implode. "We have the treasure hunt."

  "We'll go in the morning. You'll be back for Seraphina."

  Riding. It had been years since she'd ridden in the hills, through the forest. "All right. I'd love it. Can we go about eight? That way I can—"

  "Sure, eight." He gave her a quick pat on the cheek before walking away. "Don't forget the ice water."

  "No, I—" But he had already disappeared around the side of the building. Baffled by his rapid shift of mood, she considered following him. Then she looked at her watch and accepted the reality that her obligations for the day didn't allow time to puzzle out the enigma of Michael Fury.

  No one asked questions, demanded answers, or voiced disapproval. When Laura tucked her children into bed that night, she realized she had gotten through the entire day without having anyone question her absence from her own bed.

  Oh, there'd been vibes in the air. Worry, curiosity, but she'd dodged even those. She'd survived a hangover as well, and the world had not come to an end.

  Maybe, just maybe, Laura Templeton did not have to be perfect after all.

  She left her daughters and crossed the hall to her own room. There she freshened her lipstick, brushed her hair. She needed to go and join her parents and the old friends who had come for dinner. She needed to make certain everyone was comfortable and entertained.

  And, oh, she needed to stretch out for five minutes. Just five, she promised herself as she lay down crosswise on the bed. A quick catnap would set her up, help her get through the rest of the evening.

  The minute she closed her eyes, she was dead to the world.

  "Something has to be done, Mrs. T." Hands gripped tight at her waist, Ann stood in Susan's quiet sitting room in the tower suite. "It has to be."

  "All right, Annie, sit down." It had been a long evening, and though she'd been pleased to see old friends, Susan had hoped for a few moments of solitude before bed. The look on Ann's face warned her she wouldn't get it. "Now what's the trouble?"

  "You know what the trouble is, Mrs. T." Too fretful to sit, Ann wandered the room, fussing with curtains, realigning candlesticks, fluffing pillows. "You saw how pale and tired Miss Laura was today. You had to see for yourself."

  "Yes, I did see. And I've been pale and tired myself the day after I've overindulged in champagne."

  "Oh, as if that was all of it. And that's something she's never done before him, either."

  Perhaps she should have, Susan thought. She sighed. "Annie, stop tidying the room and sit down."

  "She spent the night with him. The whole of it. Over there with him above the horses."

  Because her lips wanted to twitch, Susan glanced down at her own hands as Ann sat across from her. "Yes, Annie. I'm aware of that."

  "Well, it can't go on." And that, Ann felt, was that.

  "Just how do you expect to prevent a grown woman from doing as she chooses? The fact is, Laura is very attracted to Michael, perhaps more than attracted. She's been lonely and unhappy, and now she isn't."

  "He's taking advantage of that. He's a bad influence. Why, she didn't even come down and say good night to her guests. She's never shirked her duties that way."

  "She was tired, Annie, and the Greenbelts are my and Tommy's friends. Which isn't the point at all, really. You can't worry yourself so about all of this."

  "You're her mother, but you know I love her, just as you love my girl. When Margo had troubles, you worried yourself for her."

  "Yes." Understanding, Susan laid a hand over Ann's. "They're our children, and that's as it's always been. But children grow and go their own way no matter how we worry. That's how it's always been, too."

  "She'd listen to you, Mrs. T. I've been thinking on it." The words came out fast now and seemed so logical to her. "Miss Laura, she hasn't gone away with the girls for such a long time. She's been working hard and hasn't had a holiday. The spring vacation's coming up for Ali and Kayla. They could go away for a while. You know how the girls love to go to Disneyland. If you put the notion in Miss Laura's head, she'd take them. And it would give her time, and distance. She'd have a clearer eye about what she's doing."

  "I think Laura and the girls deserve a break, but a week in Disneyland isn't going to change her feelings for Michael, Annie."

  "She's just caught up right now. If she had some time without him clouding her mind, she'd see that man for just what he is."

  At a loss, Susan threw up her hands, let them slap down on the arms on her chair in a show of impatience. "For God's sake, Annie, what is he? Why do you dislike him so intensely?"

  "He's a brute is what he is. A brute and a user and probably a fortune hunter as well. He'll hurt her in more ways than one, and I'm not having it." She pressed her lips tight together. "I'm not."

  To clear her own temper, Susan took a long breath. "I want you to explain to me what he's done."

  "You know very well that when he was no more than twelve he was sneaking around this house."

  "He was Josh's friend."

  "And giving Mister Josh stolen cigarettes, daring him into all manner of foolishness."

  "Boys do foolish things at twelve. Christ, Annie, I taught my best friend how to smoke when we were fourteen. It's stupid, but it's children."

  "And was it a child's foolishness that sent him to jail?"

  "What's this?" Susan's face paled a bit. "Michael was in jail? How do you know?"

  "I hear things. He was locked up for fighting. In a bar. Oh, they didn't keep him but overnight, but they locked him up right enough. The man likes to use his fists."

  "Oh, for heaven's sakes, I thought he'd robbed a bank or killed someone. I may not approve, but I can't condemn a man for sleeping in a cell overnight because he punched someone in a bar. You don't even know who started it, or why, or—"

  "How can you make excuses?" Suddenly furious, Ann sprang up. "How can you? The man is with your daughter night after night. He'll use them on her eventually. She'll do or say something and he'll use his fists on her the way he did on his own mother."

  "What are you saying?" A jiggle of fear settled low in her stomach.

  "A man who will strike his own mother, bloody her mouth and blacken her eye, won't think twice about doing the same to another woman. She's so small and delicate, Mrs. T. I can't bear the thought of what he could do to her."

  "You believe Michael Fury beat his own mother?" Susan said slowly.

  "She told me so herself. Came looking for him here with her poor face all black and blue. I took her into my room and did what I could for her, and she told me Michael had come home the night before, drunk, and had hurt her, had driven her husband off, then left her there alone. I wanted to go to the police, but she wouldn't have it."

  She whirled away, emotions choking her. "Ah, he belonged in a cell. He belonged in a cage. If you had only seen her face. If that man raises a finger to Miss Laura, I—"

  "Annie, I did see Michael's mother." Susan rose. "I did speak with her."

  "Then you know. He ran off to sea just after that rather than face what he'd done. Mrs. T, we have to make him go away from here. We can't have a man who's capable of what he is near Miss Laura and her babies."

  "I'll tell you what she told me, Annie, after she came to shout at me for keeping Michael here after that night."

  "Here?" Ann had to press a hand to her outraged heart to keep it in place. "That man was here? You let him stay here in this house after—"

  "He slept in the stables until he shipped out. He never laid a hand on that woman."

  "You saw her. She told me—"

  "She blamed him. She couldn't blame herself, not then. But I had the truth out of her. It was her husband who beat her, and who had done so before. She had come to
work with black eyes before, and Michael didn't put them there."

  "But she said—"

  "I don't care what she said," Susan shouted. The memory of it still made her blood burn. A mother blaming a child for her own failings. "That boy came home and saw his stepfather beating his mother. And he protected her. The thanks he got for giving that beast what he deserved was having his own mother kick him out of the house, tell him he had no right to interfere, that he was to blame."

  She stopped for a moment, struggled to calm herself. "And when Michael was gone, when she knew she'd lost him, she sat right here in this room and broke down. She told me everything."

  "But she told me… I believed…" Ann sank down in a chair. "Oh, sweet God."

  "She begged me to help her find him, to persuade him to come back. She was alone, you see, and Michael's mother was a woman who didn't know how to be alone. I want to believe that somewhere inside, she regretted what she'd done, what she'd said to him, and she loved him. But all I saw was a miserable, selfish woman who was afraid to be without a man, even if the man was the son she'd driven away."

  "Oh, Mrs. T." Ann pressed her hand against her mouth. The tears that swam in her eyes were tears of guilt and pity. "You're sure of this?"

  "Annie, forget what she told you, even what I've just said, and tell me, honestly, what you see when you look at him. As if you knew nothing more about him than what you've seen since he came here."

  "He works hard." She sniffled and tugged a tissue from her pocket. "He's good with children and his animals. He's kind to them. He's got the devil in his eye, and something hard comes into it. He doesn't watch his language as he should around the children, and I don't think…" She trailed off, wiped her eyes. "He's good to them. And he's been good for them. I can't deny it. And I'm ashamed."

  "There's no shame in worrying over the ones you love. I'm sorry you were living with the fear that Laura had gotten herself involved with the kind of man you thought he was."

  "I've hardly slept since he's been here. I kept waiting for him to—Oh, the poor boy. What a terrible thing to go through. And him barely old enough to shave regular."

  "You'll sleep better now," Susan murmured.

  "But I'm still keeping my eye on him." She managed a weak smile. "Men who look that way, they're not to be trusted around a woman."

  "We'll both worry." Susan squeezed Annie's hand. "We know our Laura, don't we? She needs home, family, love. When everything else is brushed aside, that's what she is. I don't know if she'll find that with Michael, or what it will do to her if she doesn't."

  She'd found something else. The thrill of streaking over the hills, of racing through low-lying fog that hugged the ground like a river. Of hearing the thunder of hooves and feeling the strong, sleek mount beneath her gather itself to jump.

  She sailed over a fallen log and burst into a clearing where the sun flashed white.

  "Oh, God, it's wonderful!" After reining in, she leaned low over the horse's neck. "I'll never be able to do without this again. You're a clever man, Michael Fury." She straightened and turned to study him as he sat easily on Max. "How could I buy a horse for myself and not buy that mare for Ali?"

  "I'll give you a hell of a deal on three. The little bay gelding fits Kayla like a glove. You ride like a demon, Laura." He reached down to pat the neck of the mare Laura rode. "And Fancy here suits you. I figured she would."

  "Apparently you know your horses, and your women."

  His eyes flicked up to hers. His woman. For the moment. "Apparently. You look…" Stunning, vital. "Rested."

  "I slept like the dead last night. Nearly ten hours." Trying her hand at flirting, she sent him a sidelong look under her lashes. "Did you miss me?"

  He'd reached for her half a dozen times during the night.