An Indecent Proposal Page 11

  “Do you want to hear the truth?” he said, his lips an inch from hers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman than you, sugar.”

  Her lips parted, but before she could speak he kissed her again. His hand threaded into her hair, held it wrapped like a copper flame around his wrist. His mouth opened over hers and the tip of his tongue brushed against her lips.

  Angelica made a soft sound of pleasure. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, and her fingers curled into his shirt.

  Cade groaned softly. He touched his mouth to her earlobe, then left a trail of warm kisses along her flesh until he reached the hollow of her throat. His hand slid up her ribs, moved under the cotton camisole. He felt her tremble and he whispered her name and cupped her naked breast in his palm.

  His brain was shrieking out a message, but his body wasn’t listening. It was hardening, aching with the need to possess this soft, sweet-smelling woman, this Angelica who burned like fire in his arms.

  He sat down on the bed beside her, sliding his hand over her belly, over the foolish cotton panties, and he cupped her through the soft fabric.

  Angelica groaned and strained toward him, her mouth open and hungry, her arm winding around his neck.

  Sensation after sensation swept over her, each electrifying. The feel of Cade’s mouth moving against hers, and the taste. The stroke of his fingers against her nipple. And oh, the heat of his hand moving between her thighs, the weight of it pressing against her so that she was suddenly flooded with dampness.

  “Sweet,” he whispered, “sweet Angelica.”

  She whispered his name, reached up to him, took his face in her hands…

  And cried out in pain.

  Cade sprang back. He stared into her flushed face, into her stunned eyes.

  My God, he thought, what am I doing? What kind of man took advantage of a woman groggy from medication?

  He hadn’t meant to take advantage, hadn’t even meant to kiss her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to…” He drew the blanket to her chin. “Are you all right?”

  She wasn’t, she thought, she wasn’t all right. How could she be, to have let herself be carried away like that? It had to be the medicine, and exhaustion.

  “Angelica?”

  “Yes,” she lied, “I’m fine.” She took a deep breath. “Cade, it’s been a long day, and the medicine… I think— I think it’s time you left.”

  “All right.” He rose from the bed. “But I don’t think you should be alone for a while. Suppose I go downstairs and call Emily? I’m sure she’ll be happy to stay with you for a couple of days.”

  “No, I don’t need—” She hesitated. There was no point in pretending. What had just happened was proof that it was all catching up to her, the stress and the pain, and with a little shrug of her shoulders, she gave in. “OK. Maybe you’re right. Her number is tacked to the wall next to the phone in the kitchen.”

  Outside, in the hallway, he took a deep breath, cursed himself for being seven times a fool and decided that his decision to leave Dallas had been a very wise one.

  Whatever had happened in that bedroom just now only proved that when you reached overload, anything was possible.

  He found Emily’s number and dialed it and, as her phone rang, he tried to concentrate on the woman waiting in Dumai instead of the one lying in that narrow bed upstairs.

  What was her name? What did she look like? It upset him that he couldn’t remember. He frowned. Exhaustion was clearly catching up to him.

  “Come on,” he muttered, as the phone rang and rang. What was taking so long? The tiny rooms and narrow staircase of this little house were threatening to crush him.

  Finally, a voice croaked brokenly in his ear.

  “Hullo?”

  “Emily?” he said, puzzled.

  “Mr. Landon? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Emily, what’s wrong? You sound terrible.”

  “I feel terrible, Mr. Landon. I’ve got the flu.”

  Cade closed his eyes. It never rains but it pours, he thought wearily. No, he said calmly, no, he hadn’t called about anything terribly important. He’d just—he’d just…

  Hastily, he improvised, offering a barely coherent reason for his phone call. Not that it mattered. Emily was too sick to notice. She wasn’t going to be at work for the next several days, she said, and apologized for the inconvenience.

  “No problem,” Cade said cheerfully.

  He hung up the phone and ran his fingers through his hair. Now what? He’d thought he could simply put Angelica to bed and walk out, but he’d been kidding himself. She needed someone.

  A home nursing service. Yes, maybe that would do it—but he wouldn’t be able to reach one at this hour.

  Perhaps she had a friend who could come stay with her. A woman? A man? Was there a man in her life?

  Cade’s jaw clenched. It was none of his business what she did or who she did it with. Why should the thought make him so angry? Because he was tired and hungry, that’s why, he thought grimly. Well, at least he could solve part of that problem.

  He got to his feet, went into the kitchen, yanked open the refrigerator door and peered inside.

  There was a lump of something unidentifiable, a heel of bread on its way to becoming penicillin and a carton of yogurt. The cupboards yielded little more except the knowledge that if he wanted a cup of coffee, or tea, or even cocoa, he was in trouble.

  Cade was scowling as he headed up the stairs to Angelica’s room.

  “Angelica,” he said severely—and fell silent.

  She was fast asleep, lying as he had left her, looking as forlorn as anything he’d ever seen. He made a move toward the bed, his hand lifting as if to smooth down the covers, but then he took a step back.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to her sleeping form. “Why didn’t they keep you in that hospital overnight?”

  Not that she’d have stayed if they’d suggested it, he thought. She’d have insisted she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

  With a groan, he sank down in the old-fashioned rocking chair opposite the bed and lay his head back.

  Now what? he thought.

  It was a good question. A very good question. The trouble was, he had no answers.

  Cade closed his eyes. Seconds later, he was asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ANGELICA stirred as the morning sun cast its bright light across her face.

  She sighed, murmured something unintelligible and turned her face to the side, but the light wouldn’t go away. Frowning, she threw her arm over her face to shield her eyes—

  And came swiftly awake.

  Pain shot through her arm, radiating sharply from her hand to her shoulder. She gave a hiss of distress, struggled up against the pillows—and gaped in astonishment at what she saw.

  Cade was sound asleep, sprawled in the old rocking chair near her bed. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his head lolled back against the headrest at an angle that had to be uncomfortable. The chair, too small for his bulk, might have made another man look foolish.

  It only made Cade look more blatantly masculine.

  Angelica swallowed dryly, then ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. Automatically, the fingers of her left hand closed around the edge of the blanket and she drew it to her chin.

  What was Cade doing here? Last night’s memories were blurred. Damn those horrible pain pills! She could recall only bits and pieces of the flight from Notrees and the drive to the house, and things were hardly clearer after that—Cade carrying her into the house, then up the steps to her bedroom; Cade undressing her…

  Angelica blushed. It had been embarrassing—but not humiliating. Cade had been so gentle, so matter-of-fact about taking off her clothing. He’d been careful of both her injured hand and her sensibilities, something she’d never have expected from a man like him.

  But there was another memory, a di
squieting one.

  Cade putting her to bed. Cade taking her in his arms and kissing her. The heat of his mouth, and the heat of his hands as they’d moved on her flesh, the way he’d held her and touched her and awakened a fire in her so hot its flames should have consumed her.

  Angelica closed her eyes, wishing desperately she could forget and knowing that she couldn’t. Her wildly uninhibited response to him was so crazy, so unlike what she…

  It must have had something to do with the medication she’d taken.

  A soft moan of despair rose in her throat and she fell back against the pillows.

  Who was she kidding? It hadn’t been the medicine any more than it had been the medicine that had awakened her at dawn from a dream so erotic that it had left her breathless—and he’d been right here, while she’d been dreaming of him, sprawled in a chair not five feet away.

  The realization was disturbing, although she wasn’t quite sure why. All she knew was that Cade Landon had turned out to be an intruder not just in her life but in her dreams and now in her bedroom, and she didn’t like it.

  “Enough,” she said grimly, and shoved aside the bedclothes.

  She got to her feet, wincing at the pain that ricocheted through her arm. Left-handed, she yanked the blanket from the bed and whisked it around herself like a toga. Then she stalked to the rocking chair and glared at Cade’s peacefully sleeping form.

  “Cade,” she said sharply. He didn’t move. Angelica moved closer, her mouth thinned with anger. “Dammit, wake up!”

  When he still didn’t move, she punctuated the demand by bending down and jabbing her uninjured fist into his mid-section.

  Cade shot upright in the chair. Where in hell was he? What was the apparition standing over him? The light was almost blinding him; all he could make out was a tall figure wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, its head enshrouded in a nimbus of flame…

  He groaned. It was Angelica.

  Cade scrubbed his hands over his face. Had he really fallen asleep in this miserable chair? His whole body ached from the experience. And the sight of Angelica standing over him, looking more like an avenging angel than a woman recovering from a scorpion sting, did not suggest that the day was off to a pleasant start.

  “Angelica,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice.

  “Cade,” she said. Her voice bore an Arctic chill.

  He looked up at her, ran his fingers through his tousled hair and tried a good-morning smile.

  “What time is it?”

  “Time for you to get out of my bedroom.”

  Cade sighed. So much for starting the day off with a smile, he thought, and got to his feet.

  “What are you doing in my bedroom, Cade? The last I heard, Emily was coming to stay the night.”

  “Right,” he said, still struggling to get his bearings. “How does your hand feel this morning?”

  “My hand is my business. Answer the question, please. What are you doing in my bedroom?”

  He looked at her. Her color was better than it had been last night but there was a tight look to her mouth that suggested she was still in pain.

  “Look,” he said, “if it hurts, just say so. I can go down and get you an ice pack or—”

  “I repeat, how I feel is my business, not yours. Where is Emily?”

  A muscle knotted in Cade’s jaw. “I don’t do very well at question and answer games until after I’ve at least splashed cold water on my face,” he said, trying hard to control his temper. “Do you think you could give me five minutes before the inquisition begins?”

  Angelica took a step back. “Five minutes,” she said unsmilingly. “Not a minute more.”

  He made his way past her, taking his time about it just to annoy her as he walked down the hall and into the bathroom. Once the door shut after him, he leaned his hands on the sink and glowered at his reflection in the mirror.

  “Thank you for staying with me last night, Cade,” he muttered in an unkind parody of Angelica’s voice, “and thank you for spending the night on the rack just so I wouldn’t be alone.”

  He made a face at himself. Angelica, offering him thanks? Only a fool would expect it. Besides, he hadn’t really planned on spending the night. The last thing he remembered, he’d sat down in that miserable chair—

  And apparently gone out like a light. Well, he thought as he turned away from the sink, it didn’t matter. The decision he’d reached last night seemed more valid than ever. He was going to call Angelica’s bluff. And when she had to admit that she had nothing to back it up, he’d smile politely, tell her his lawyers would be in touch and wave goodbye.

  Thinking of that would help him stay cool, no matter how she provoked him.

  She wanted to act as if he’d committed a crime by spending the night contorted by that chair? Fine. Let her.

  She wanted to pretend her hand was fine? OK. He’d pretend, too.

  She was right. What happened to her was not his business.

  Cade flushed the toilet, turned to the sink and splashed water on his bristly face. A toothbrush, he thought, three aspirin, and I’ll feel like a.new man.

  He looked at the medicine cabinet. The efficient Angelica might keep a spare toothbrush in it; at the very least, she’d have a bottle of aspirin.

  In fact, there were a couple of brushes, still snugly sealed in their plastic containers. He took one, opened it, drew a line of toothpaste across the bristles and began brushing his teeth.

  When he’d almost finished, he paused, looked into the mirror and frowned. Why did she have those extra brushes? Was it a matter of efficiency—or was it in case she had overnight guests? Male guests, for instance.

  Cade swung the cabinet door open again. She had a neat little stack of disposable razors on the shelf, too, which might be meant for shaving her legs—those long, shapely legs he’d gotten such a close look at last night—but then again, she might keep them for overnight visitors who…

  He swore under his breath, rinsed his mouth and tossed the toothbrush into the wastebasket. She could have hordes of men trotting through, he didn’t give a damn. He laughed to himself as he pictured them, roundshouldered, effete snobs with pasty skins and delicate hands. So what? What did it matter to him?

  He peered into the cabinet again, ignoring the neatly arranged razors, looking instead for the aspirin. Angelica didn’t seem to believe in aspirin. She believed, instead, in vitamins, a deodorant in a surprisingly feminine vial and at least four different kinds of something called hair gel.

  Cade took down one of the containers and studied the label.

  ”‘Guaranteed to tame problem hair,’ “he read aloud.

  What problem hair? Her hair was glorious; even last night, when it had been spread across the pillows in an uncombed tangle, he’d been struck by the wild beauty of it….

  He cursed again, shoved the container into the cabinet and slammed the door.

  Coffee, he thought firmly, that’s what he needed next, and he already knew there was none in the house. Well, that store they’d passed last night must have some. He’d phone, arrange for a delivery. Coffee, and orange juice, bacon and eggs and bread. And a giant-size bottle of aspirin.

  Then he’d call a nursing service, make arrangements and say goodbye to Dallas and Angelica Gordon.

  The thought made his day.

  Smiling, he opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the hall. The house was very quiet. Had Angelica gone back to bed? He hoped so. The less he saw of her from this point on, the better.

  Cade’s nostrils dilated. What was that smell? It was drifting up the stairway, sharp and almost acrid. By God, something was burning!

  His heart started to pound. He raced into Angelica’s bedroom, saw that it was empty, turned and charged down the stairs.

  “Angelica?” he roared. “Angelica!”

  He reached the kitchen on a run. The smoke was thick enough to make him gag; it was belching from a toaster that was in the process of immolating itself.

/>   Angelica lay sprawled on the floor.

  Fear clawed at Cade’s throat. He yanked the plug from the wall, grabbed the toaster between two dish towels, ran to the back door and slung the burning toaster out onto the cement patio. Then he raced to where Angelica lay.

  “Sugar,” he whispered, and knelt down beside her. She was sobbing, and his heart turned over. Gently, he clasped her shoulders and drew her to him, “what is it? Did you get burned? Angelica, please, talk to…”

  His words trailed off. She wasn’t sobbing, she was panting—panting with anger and with frustration as she struggled to free herself from the blanket that lay tangled around her.

  “This miserable thing,” she huffed, “this awful, horrible thing!”

  Cade took a deep breath. He counted to ten, then rose and drew her up beside him. The blanket fell to the floor and he bent down, grabbed it and wrapped it around her shoulders with hands that were none too gentle.

  “OK,” he said through his teeth, “let’s have it. What happened?”

  “What do you mean, what happened?” She flung him a look of pure defiance and clutched the blanket to her breasts with her good hand.’ ‘The bread started to burn, so I tried to get it out of the toaster. But I couldn’t reach it with my left hand, and then, when I tried to turn around, this—this stupid blanket got caught under my feet and—and…”

  “Let me get this straight.” Cade folded his arms across his chest and looked at her. “First, you came down that narrow flight of steps with a blanket trailing under your feet. When you didn’t trip over the blanket and break your neck, you figured what the hell, why not go for broke? So you came in here, turned on the toaster—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Angelica tossed her head so that her mane of wild curls tumbled down her back. She turned, stalked away from him, then swung to face him again. The hem of the blanket swirled around her bare feet. “I came down to have breakfast and I tripped. End of story. You’re making much more out of this than it deserves.”

  “Really?” He put his hands on his hips. “Suppose I hadn’t been here? Suppose there’d been no one to help you? Suppose the house had gone up in flames?”