Passion's Price Read online

  He left immediately. After carrying his briefcase to the Jaguar for him and waiting for him to slide in beneath the wheel, Laine watched the car disappear down the pebbled driveway. Hands in the pockets of her cutoffs, she stood there staring after him for several long moments. The island airport was only minutes away and she knew that probably within a half hour he would take off. Turning back toward the house, she kicked a sprinkling of sand against a clump of sea oats and sighed. She doubted if he would think about her at all while he was gone, but she was certain she would think almost constantly about him.

  Thursday it rained all day. Laine read the morning away but by the time lunch had come and gone, a restlessness was gnawing at her. She could no longer concentrate on the pages of the book she held. Thinking back about the past ten days, though, she realized with some surprise that she had spent nearly every single minute of that time with Nick. Little wonder she missed him so terribly now. Putting her book aside, she looked down at Greta, who lay at her feet on the great room's area rug. Amazingly for a creature who loved to frolic in the ocean, the dog was excessively prissy when it came to rain. She had scratched at the sliding doors and gazed in at Laine with such a woebegone expression in her brown eyes that finally she had made it inside.

  "At least I have you for company, don't I, girl," Laine said to Greta, then laughed wryly at herself when the dog cocked her head inquiringly to one side. "Are you wondering why I'm here and Nick isn't? Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder myself."

  By Friday morning, though the sun did shine again, Laine's doubts had multiplied. Without Nick's reassuring presence, she was no longer so certain she should stay and await his return. She was in deep enough anyhow. Staying could possibly make the situation worse. If it could be made worse… As it was she was tormented by thoughts of how completely happy she could be if only he loved her, and she knew she would only succeed in extending her misery by indulging in such wishful thinking.

  Perhaps she should make the break now and go home while Nick was away. Or perhaps she should stay and take every second of happiness with him she could have. Bombarded with such conflicting alternatives, she sought escape by spending Friday morning in the village, browsing through the shops. Later, after lunching alone back at the house, she went for a swim, although she knew very well she was running out of time in making a decision about whether or not she'd stay. When Nick had called last night, he had told her he still planned to fly back to St. Simons Friday afternoon. If she decided to go but didn't get away before he arrived home, she knew all too well that she wouldn't go at all. He would only have to be a little persuasive to get her to stay with him. The flesh is weak and, increasingly, Laine's love for Nick overcame logic. Her heart was ruling her head.

  "Fools rush in," she murmured to her reflection in the bedroom mirror as she combed her freshly washed hair after her swim. Uncertainty clouded the blue eyes that looked back at her, and when she noticed the barely discernible downcurving of her mouth, which seemed to give her such an air of vulnerability, she uttered an oath beneath her breath. Willing herself to make her decision within ten seconds, she made it. She would stay. Next week would be soon enough to begin the painful process of accepting that Nick didn't love her.

  When Nick phoned a half hour later to say he would be delayed in Pittsburgh until Saturday afternoon, Laine concealed her intense disappointment. But after their brief conversation ended, she moaned softly. The days she had left to try to gain Nick's love were slipping so quickly away, and with that thought came the realization that she had always felt a foolish hope that somehow he would fall in love with her too. It was a hope she had tried fervently to deny, but now that she accepted its presence, she feared the heights to which a hopeful imagination might take her.

  Then she was struck by a brilliant idea. To escape Nick's house and the foolish daydreams she might have there, she would drive home and make her father's dinner. Anything to occupy her mind, she thought, as she hurried to dress. Deciding to treat Greta by taking her along, she called the dog from the beach, wiped her damp sandy paws with a cloth, then led her out to the Omni.

  In itself, the drive home was relaxing. Fresh air poured in the open windows, and Laine enjoyed Greta's reaction to the ride. Sitting erect and alert in the front passenger seat, ears perked, the dog watched the world stream by with great interest. Traffic was light. The trip which sometimes took thirty-five to forty minutes was completed in less than thirty. And Greta's curious interest was intensified when Laine let her out of the Omni and took her inside the Winthrop house.

  Leaving the dog to her sniffing tour of this strange place with all its strange scents, Laine went into the kitchen to take stock. She found a package of lamb chops in the refrigerator, obviously her father's purchase for one of his week's solitary meals, and she wondered why he hadn't cooked them. Actually the refrigerator was too well stocked, as if he hadn't prepared many meals at all. Hadn't he been eating well? A twinge of conscience was immediately squelched. Her father was an adult, capable of cooking for himself. She couldn't allow herself to feel guilty if he hadn't eaten right simply because she had taken a well-deserved vacation.

  Smiling as Greta wandered into the kitchen and then back out again, Laine began dinner. By six, when she expected her father home, everything was almost ready. With nothing left to do except put on the final touches, Laine went into the living room and was delighted to find a letter from Regina, a rare thing indeed. Curling up comfortably on the sofa, she soon discovered why her sister had addressed the envelope to her alone. Since Regina never discussed her romantic entanglements with her father, this letter wouldn't have been suitable reading material for him. In it, she described in glowing terms the newest man in her life, and as Laine read the impetuously scrawled lines, she wondered how long his appeal would last. The letter was long, and just as Laine was finishing the last page, she heard the front door open and her father come in. When he entered the living room, she looked up and smiled, despite the deep furrowing frown he was wearing.

  "Why are you home so early?" he questioned sharply. "Did something go wrong? Did you and Nick…"

  Interrupting hastily, she explained Nick's unexpected emergency, then saw quite clearly the visible relief that flooded her father's face. It was so obvious he had expected to hear she had done something to antagonize Nick that she felt a small surge of resentment. But it soon passed, and while Thornton sipped a drink, she returned to the kitchen.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when her father suddenly bellowed her name. Certain he must have fallen violently ill, she raced into the living room, only to find him cornered by the bar staring down at Greta, who was growling softly at him. Laine spoke a command, and the dog immediately relaxed her aggressive stance and stopped growling.

  Jerking up his head, Thornton glared at his daughter. "What the devil is this… mastiff doing here?" he exclaimed heatedly. "Are you trying to give me heart failure? Why didn't you tell me there was a dog in the house?"

  "She's been roaming around upstairs and I just forgot for a moment she was here," Laine told him, gesturing apologetically. "I'm sorry if she scared you. She's just never seen you, and I suppose she thought you were an intruder. But actually, Father, she's not large enough to be a mastiff."

  "I don't care what she is. Remove her at once from this house," he snapped. "I can't imagine why she's here in the first place… unless… Good God! You haven't bought her, have you?"

  Smiling wryly, Laine shook her head. "No, Father, I didn't buy her, but I did feel I should bring her with me this afternoon since I'm taking care of her for Nick."

  The mere name brought about a change in countenance. Thornton's frown faded. "Oh, she belongs to Nick. Well. I see." He cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably. "Then I guess you did have to bring her with you."

  "Yes, I did," Laine said, leaving the room when her father actually decided to approach Greta and stroke her sleek head.

  Fifteen minutes later dinner got off to a
less than promising start. As Thornton was unfolding his napkin in his lap, he began talk about the grant, as if he thought she knew whether or not Nick had made a decision about it. And when she reminded him that Nick hadn't yet seen the auditor's report, he seemed to doubt she was telling the truth.

  "Well, you must know something more than that," he said harshly. "Surely you and Nick talk about the grant?"

  Calmly slipping her knife through a perfectly done chop, she shook her head. "Actually, the grant doesn't come up very often."

  "Then what the devil are you doing on that island?"

  "Having my vacation," she replied succinctly, looking at him with a spark of defiance in her eyes. "Remember, you were the one who insisted I go there and relax. I didn't realize you really meant for me to lobby constantly for the grant. That would have done no good, I assure you. Nick would have undoubtedly asked me to leave if I'd tried pressuring him into a decision. He's not a man to push, Father."

  Having no answer for that, Thornton maintained a cool silence for the next several minutes. When he finally spoke again, it was only to tell Laine that she looked considerably neater than she had when he had visited the beach house Sunday. After one last disparaging comment about her cutoff jeans and halter, he was silent once more, this time for the remainder of the meal.

  By the time dinner ended, Laine was ready and eager to return to St. Simons. Sheer restlessness had brought her home, and it had been a mistake to. come. Her father, in his present crabby mood, was no one to spend a relaxing evening with. After cleaning up in the kitchen, Laine took her purse off the counter and walked into the living room. Greta, who had been sprawled out in a nap on the rug, sleepily raised her head.

  "Yes, come on, girl," Laine called, then glanced at her father. "I'm going now."

  Thornton lowered the newspaper he was reading to look over it at his daughter. "Very well," he answered with a nod. "Drive carefully." And when Laine simply smiled a good-bye and started out of the living room, he cleared his throat again.

  She stopped and turned around to look at him. Obviously he had something more to say and she waited expectantly.

  "Nick must trust you," he at last stated, watching her rather speculatively. "He's letting you stay at his house, even while he's away. That sounds good. The two of you are obviously developing a good friendship. Just don't forget how influential friends can be."

  "Father, Nick wants more than friendship from me," she said quietly, though her patience was beginning to wear a bit thin. "I should think you'd be aware of that."

  He smiled weakly. "Well, of course, I know that he sees you as an attractive young woman and that you think he's an attractive man. I imagine your relationship could develop into a romantic involvement, given time."

  Laine stared at him disbelievingly for a second, then shook her head but made no reply. Any answer would have gone unheeded anyhow. Her father had simply closed his mind to the truth. Since he had practically thrown her into Nick's arms, he was apparently unwilling to recognize just how deeply she had become involved. As Nick had said, he wasn't a stupid man, but he had certainly stuck his head in the sand in this situation and Laine wasn't inclined to force the issue. Let him hide in his guiltless idealistic dreamworld for as long as he could.

  After murmuring a final goodnight, Laine led Greta outside to the car. As she drove away from the house, she wearily pushed the sweep of hair back from her forehead. She had never realized before how tired her father made her feel. His steady nit-picking and vague disapproval didn't make for a very joyous homelife, and suddenly she had the keenest, sharpest need to be with Nick again.

  Maybe he didn't love her, but at least he treated her like a truly valuable person.

  Nick still hadn't returned, and it was early Saturday afternoon. To avoid considering he might be delayed yet another day, Laine decided to do the bulk of her packing now instead of postponing the chore until Sunday. In Nick's bedroom she stood for a moment gazing out the wide window through which moonlight had shone in on them that first night.

  Dragging herself away from the disruptive memories, she went to the closet and began removing some of her clothes. It was as she was standing before the chest at the foot of the four poster bed, folding an ice blue sundress into her suitcase, that she was abruptly overcome by the eerie sensation that she was being watched. Spinning around, she found Nick standing in the doorway, observing her solemnly, and as her heart started beating erratically at the mere sight of him, he came into the room.

  "You're back," she said unnecessarily, managing not to run and fling herself against him and show him how very glad she was. "I didn't hear you come in. I…"

  "Why are you packing?" he asked flatly, stopping to flick back the sides of the tan suit jacket he wore and place lean hands on equally lean hips. "You weren't thinking of leaving today, were you?"

  "I'm just packing what I can now instead of leaving it until tomorrow." Though his expression lightened somewhat, she still could see fine lines of strain around his mouth and she took a step toward him. "You look tired, Nick."

  One long stride brought him to her and he pulled her into his arms, close against hard warm strength. When her hands slipped up to cup his neck, he bent down to give her the gentlest of kisses, his firm lips playing lightly over the softness of her mouth. "Umm. That's much nicer than what I've been doing for the past two and a half days," he whispered only half teasingly, then stepped around her to lower himself into the easy chair by the bed. He drew her down onto his lap.

  Delighted that he seemed to have missed her at least a little, she smiled at him, laying her hands on his shoulders, her fingers massaging the tensed muscles. "You obviously took that man on as a client. And obviously you expect it to be a difficult case."

  "It usually is when the client's guilty," he stated with incredible calm, then shook his head in gentle admonition as her eyes widened. "Even the guilty are guaranteed a defense in this society, Laine."

  "But I've being reading about the case in the newspaper," she protested softly. "And if he really committed murder, several of them in fact…"

  "He's quite insane, doesn't even remember his crimes except under the influence of sodium pentathol."

  "Even so, you can't want to help set him free!"

  "You're precisely right—I don't want him to go free. But I don't want him to go to prison either. He's too uncontrollable for any place except a maximum security psychiatric facility. He'll probably never be cured—he's so deeply psychotic. But researchers might learn a great deal about what causes his particular illness. Maybe they'll learn enough to develop a treatment and there won't be as many senseless killings committed." Sighing, Nick raked his fingers through his hair. "It's always an uphill battle, trying to convince a jury that a defendant should be confined to a mental institution rather than a prison, especially if he's been judged competent to stand trial. I guess too many sick people have been released from psychiatric facilities, and I can understand their fear. But I don't believe this man would ever be released. He's so obviously mad. Pathetic and repulsive at the same time."

  For the first time Laine truly recognized what different worlds she and Nick lived in. Hers was a world peopled by innocent children while his was often peopled with society's most troubled outcasts. He shared some of the bleakest moments in people's lives, and she was seeing now how some of those experiences could drain him. He had needed someone to talk to today and she was so very glad he had chosen her to confide in.

  "Thank you for telling me about the case," she said, tenderly touching her fingertips against his cheek. "I know what you've said is confidential and I'll never repeat a word of it."

  "It never occurred to me that you might," he murmured, tightening his arms around her until she was lying against his chest. One large hand clasped the back of her head, holding her fast. His mouth descended with all-consuming need onto hers while his free hand swept over her from head to toe, caressingly exploring every enticing feminine curve.r />
  Breathless from the overpowering desire conveyed by his mouth, hands, and body, Laine dragged her lips away from the taking strength of his. Sensing a barely leashed passion more intense than she had ever known in him, she felt a fluttering of fear in the pit of her stomach. She caught his face in her hands to resist another kiss. "You had a long flight," she breathed. "Can't I get you a drink or something to eat? Aren't you hungry?"

  "Only for you. God, I need you, Laine," he groaned, overcoming her ineffectual resistance with ease. His lips were on hers again, hard, possessive, seeking surrender. Too aroused to unbutton her blouse, he jerked it open, and two or three buttons popped off to land with a click on the hardwood floor. Laine's slight fear became sudden delight and she reveled in the insistent need conveyed by the hardening line of his body. As he swiftly removed her lacy wisp of bra and lowered his head to close his mouth around the rose-tipped peak of one breast then the other, the moist pulling pressure he exerted sent wild desire coursing through her. With a soft moan, she urged his mouth to hers again. Her hands slipped reluctantly from him when he stood with her in his arms then deposited her on his bed. She watched him shed his clothes through heavy-lidded eyes. And when he came down onto the bed beside her, she moved eager stroking hands over his broad smooth back as he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her shorts and undid the snap.

  The overwhelming urgency of his lovemaking struck a responsive chord in her. She held nothing back. With each slow rousing thrust of their lovemaking, she wrapped herself closer to him, her lips clinging to his, whispering his name over and over between tremulous sighs of pleasure. He possessed her totally, body, soul, and mind, and his hands on her slender curved body exercised that right of possession. He took her spiraling upward to the piercing peak of ecstasy then joined her there until the warming waves of satisfied desire rippled through both of them. Together they slipped down into intense contentment and lay close together, arms embracing, legs entangled as their breathing slowed.