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  Her eyes fluttered open to meet the smoldering fires warming his, and when he smiled gently, she pressed a kiss in the hollow just beneath his jaw.

  "I missed you, Nick," she allowed herself to confess softly. "I'm glad you're back."

  "That's good to hear," he murmured, stroking her delightfully tumbled hair. "If you missed me, then it'll be easy for you to say yes when I tell you I want you to move in here. You will come live with me, won't you, Laine?" She could only gasp, and when he laughed softly, almost indulgently, at her reaction, she stared at him in stunned surprise.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Oh, Nick, be serious," she finally said. Composure regained, she forced a light little laugh, hoping he didn't notice it was patently false. "I know you. You're too independent to want any woman to live with you."

  "I didn't ask 'any' woman. I asked you. I like having you here, Laine," he said in a tender, sincere voice. "And since you seem to be happy here with me, I see no reason why we shouldn't try living together."

  Try living together. How very casual he made it sound. And as Laine had to accept that he was being serious, an inner chill radiated over her entire body and seemed to seep into her very bones. Without even realizing it, he could hurt her so easily, and she was hurt now as the foolish hopes she had harbored crumbled to dust. His affection for her had not become love. With this proposition of his, he as much as said that he found her temporarily intriguing but that he didn't really expect his interest in her to last. They could play house together until they tired of each other, then go their separate ways. Maybe he really could do it that way, but she couldn't. Already her emotions were in tatters, but she couldn't tell him that truth. Instead, she turned up her lips in a little smile, hoping her cheeks didn't look as frozen and stiff as they felt.

  "I… don't see how I could live here," she said slowly, willing herself to relax again in his arms. "I'd have to drive to Latham and back every day, and that's a lot of miles."

  "I've considered that. It would be somewhat inconvenient, but I hoped you might think it was worth it to live at the beach," he murmured beguilingly, trailing little kisses along her jaw, closer and closer to her mouth. "Hmmm. Laine, wouldn't you like to live at the beach… with me?"

  She could easily have cried. She longed to accept what he offered. Yet it wasn't enough without his love. By swallowing repeatedly, she eased the strangling restriction in her throat, and sheer will power enabled her to endure the burning behind her eyes without allowing the tears to flow. When his lips ceased wandering to cover her own, parting their softness with a gentle, irresistible demand, she kissed him back fully, betrayed by her body. Nick knew only too well how to arouse her, awaken a burning, insatiable need in her. Only he knew that one secret spot on the nape of her neck beneath silken hair where the mere brushing touch of his lips was like fire dancing over her sensitized skin. He knew everything about her except that she loved him, and she could not sacrifice the tattered remnants of her pride by confessing that she did. She wouldn't, couldn't set herself up for such devastating rejection. Somehow, then, she had to give him practical excuses for not coming to live with him so he would never know the truth—that she was terrified of being too happy with him for a few short weeks or even months only to lose everything in the end when he became bored with their relationship. She had gambled once and lost. She couldn't gamble again.

  Knowing she needed to play her chosen role convincingly, she laughed softly and escaped Nick's caressing lips by pushing gently at his chest. "Stop, Nick, you're not playing fair," she chided teasingly, veiling the hurt in her eyes by lowering her lashes. "How can I think sensibly with you kissing me like that?" She paused and ran her tongue over her lips. "I do wonder if it would be very wise of me to move in here when you're really not home all the time yourself."

  "It's always seemed silly to rush home to an empty house. Now, if you were here…" Cupping her face in both his hands, he kissed the tip of her nose. "But I know you want to think about this before making a decision. Why don't we just talk about it again next weekend? I'll probably be in Pittsburgh most of the week, but I'll drive to Latham Friday night or Saturday morning. You can tell me what you've decided then."

  Laine jumped at the proffered reprieve, knowing she could hardly bear to make the break with him at this very moment. She needed the next week to shore up her defenses, to bolster her courage, because some dreadful instinct told her that when she declined his invitation to live with him, everything between them would immediately end. Nodding, she gazed up at him and tried to smile. "All right, I'll tell you next weekend. Why don't I make you something to eat? After that long flight, you have to be hungry."

  To her relief, he admitted he was, and after tangling her fingers compulsively in his dark hair and urging his mouth down to hers for a kiss that was, for her, almost a goodbye, she got up. Draping his terry robe over her shoulders, she went into the adjoining bathroom for a shower, leaving him half asleep in the bed.

  Laine's time left with Nick seemed to pass in the twinkling of an eye. Sunday morning sped into Sunday afternoon, and then it was time for her to start the drive back to the Latham campus. After stowing her luggage in the back of the Omni, Nick opened the door for her to slip in beneath the steering wheel, then closed the door behind her. As she was fumbling for her keys in her purse, he bent down from his considerable height, reached in through the open window, and took her small chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing her inexorably to him. He leaned his head inside the car to give her one final kiss. Unable to prevent her lips from clinging to the firm shape of his, she slipped her hands with some urgency over his arms, conveying a too obvious need to be closer to him.

  "Laine, Laine…" he groaned, reluctantly releasing her mouth. Though his green eyes flared hotly, his smile was gentle. "Are you absolutely certain you have to leave tonight? Tomorrow morning…"

  "I have to go now, Nick," she muttered thickly, thrusting the proper key into the ignition to switch on the engine. Afraid her voice would break revealingly if she tried to say any more, she simply gave him a rather tremulous smile that seemed more shy than sad. And lifting her hand in a hesitant wave, she gently pressed her foot to the accelerator and moved away from him. It was only when she was halfway along the drive, as she involuntarily looked up into the rearview mirror and saw Nick still standing in the same place watching her leave, that she allowed a soft tearless sob to escape her. If only he had said one word of love to her, everything could have been so very different.

  By Friday evening, when Nick called Laine to tell her he would arrive at her house in about an hour, she had convinced herself she was ready to face him. During the whole long week since she had seen him, the push and pull of her emotions had practically made her numb to all feeling. Yet she had come to one irrefutable conclusion— she was more old-fashioned that she had ever considered herself to be. Too many times during the week her eyes had automatically sought her left hand and the ringless third finger began to take on great significance. In this new self-understanding, she realized that to truly find happiness in her love for Nick she needed to be married to him. Even if he could return the love she gave, that wouldn't be enough to persuade her merely to live with him. Now she knew she could never be content in such a casual nonbinding arrangement. She could never deliberately plan to just live with him.

  The two weeks of her vacation had been different. She had gone to stay with him, believing other guests would be there and, in her naiveté, believing she could actually control her own desires and his. The intimacy they had shared had begun spontaneously, and only then had she recognized that what had happened had been inevitable from the beginning. But if she chose to live with him now, even if he could love her, she would be willingly settling for less than she needed. Her own sense of self-worth wouldn't permit her to do that.

  "Something isn't always better than nothing, after all," she told her reflection in the vanity mirror Friday evening. Straightening the collar of her
white sleeveless cotton blouse and smoothing her tan textured cotton skirt, she took a deep breath and touched amazingly steady hands to her hair when she heard the front doorbell ring.

  She went downstairs. Mercifully, her father had let Nick in and then disappeared, so she didn't have to deal with him, too, when she first walked into the living room and saw Nick. Standing with his back to her at the French doors that opened onto the patio, he was looking outside at the gathering twilight. Tall, so endearingly masculine in casual khaki pants and a navy rugby-style shirt, he evoked disturbing memories of what they had had together and she was made overwhelmingly aware of what she would be losing when their relationship came to a close. Before her resolve could weaken, however, she walked farther into the room and softly called his name.

  He turned to her, and the lines of weariness etched on his face were almost her undoing. Every fiber of her being ached as she longed to throw herself into his arms to tell him yes, she loved him and needed to be with him, no matter what the cost. Standing perfectly still, she said nothing. With two long strides, he met her, his arms sliding possessively around her waist as he pulled her hard against the lithe strength of his long body.

  "It's been some long week, love," he murmured huskily, cupping her face in one large hand and lifting it to receive his kiss.

  To be able to store one last happy memory, Laine responded with the eagerness he had taught her to feel. Her softly shaped mouth opened slightly and with the ever-increasing demanding pressure of his lips, physical pleasure, honed to a fine edge by emotional agony, shafted through her. She felt bereft when Nick released her mouth and his arms slipped from around her, but she managed a slight smile as he sat down on the sofa, pulling her down close to him.

  "How's the case going?" she asked, compelled to touch with her fingertips the fine lines of strain beside his mouth. "You look so tired, Nick."

  "It's nearly impossible to defend a client who doesn't really even understand what's going on around him. But I'll have to do it, since the court probably won't rule him incompetent to stand trial." He shrugged. "Well, I don't want to talk about that right now. Maybe later… How did your week go, Laine? Miss me?"

  If only you knew how much, she wanted so badly to confess. Instead, she forced a smile and looked away from his intense, warm gaze. "I guess I thought about you once or twice," she teased, laughing out loud when his face fell.

  "Once or twice!" He was only pretending to be so outrageously hurt, she could tell. But did she see some genuine sign of vulnerability there as well? She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. "Once or twice every minute," she assured him quietly. He relaxed again, holding her tight, and they both laughed, Laine amazed that she could actually seem so happy and relaxed when she was hurting so badly inside.

  After telling about what had been a rather uneventful week, she fell silent, tensed for the question that was inevitably coming. And when Nick actually did ask her if she had made a decision, she almost felt relieved.

  Nodding, she made herself look at him directly. "I've thought about it a lot," she said very softly but clearly. "And I've decided I can't live with you."

  "I thought you were going to take some convincing," he announced, showing no surprise whatsoever at her answer. Taking one small hand in both his, he played lazily with her fingertips. "Laine, I think I understand some of your misgivings. Even though couples who live together aren't unusual these days, you do live in a rather close-knit community on this campus and I imagine gossip is rife. And I can't really blame you for not wanting to be the subject of some of that gossip, but…"

  "Oh, but that's not it at all," she protested earnestly. "I admit I don't care to be gossiped about. But I don't actually let myself worry too much about what people like Dulcie Jacobs say. That's not why I'm saying no."

  "Suppose you tell me why then."

  "It's… well, I just can't say yes."

  "That's a very poor answer, Laine," he persisted, a tiny frown beginning to etch his brow. "Now, try telling me exactly why you think you can't say yes."

  "Oh, different reasons," she evaded. Wondering how long she would have to endure this torturing inquisition, she balled her free hand into a fist in her lap. Her heartbeat slowed to the dull heavy thudding of despair as she detected a growing coolness frost his eyes and harden his expression. She hated lying to him, yet pride made her do it and she knew she had to play out the farce to the end. She forced her shoulders up in a vague shrug. "One reason is that moving into your house just doesn't seem… well, feasible."

  "Or maybe you simply aren't willing to make that kind of commitment. Is that the problem, Laine?"

  A bitter little laugh rose in her throat but she suppressed it. How ironic it was that he thought living together constituted a commitment while she believed that sort of arrangement indicated a lack of one. More certain than ever that such differing philosophies could never be reconciled, she averted her gaze as she murmured, "I'm not unwilling to make a real commitment. I just…"

  "We're good for each other, Laine. You know that," he interrupted, his voice lowering, taking on a hard impatient edge as his fingers pressed down against the delicate bones of her hand. "Don't you think that what we had together was special, Laine?"

  Not special enough, she cried out inwardly, threatened by emotions that were on the verge of slipping out of control. Yet her expression remained deceptively placid as she overcame the growing need to snatch her hand from his and run from the room. And pride intervened again, enabling her to appear calm as she answered his question, "What we had was special, Nick, at least to me. But I still can't come live with you."

  His jaw tensed. Piercing green eyes raked over her mercilessly. "Don't say you can't as if some malevolent force were holding you back. Say what you really mean—that you won't live with me."

  "All right, I won't then." She winced slightly with his abrupt release of her hand. Her gaze swept over the hard planes of his face, reading impatience in every line, and that impatience simply seemed another indication that his feelings for her didn't run very deep. Anguish darkened her eyes but she veiled them swiftly with the fringe of her lashes as she added almost in a whisper, "I'm sorry I've made you angry, Nick."

  "I'm not angry. Disappointed, yes," he replied coldly, standing to look down on her while a grim smile moved his lips. "You have proved to be a disappointment, Laine. I thought maybe you'd finally be able to cut yourself loose from Thornton and from your own irrational need to try to please him. But you haven't done that, have you? He's the reason you've made this decision. What it comes right down to, Laine, is that you can't bear the thought of displeasing your father."

  His theory was so far from the truth that Laine was literally struck speechless for several moments. Then all the old denials she had given Nick so often before raged forth in her again, seeking a voice. But before she could open her mouth to utter a protest, he seemed to have taken her silence as affirmation of his theory and was halfway across the room. She started to call his name but he suddenly turned around and his brown face was such a daunting mask of cold indifference that she could only stare at him mutely.

  "Tell your father I expect to make a decision about the grant within the next few weeks," he stated, his words clipped, precise. "Good-bye, Laine."

  He was gone and she heard the soft firm click of the front door closing before she fell back limply on the sofa and raised trembling fingers to the throbbing ache in her temples. Her thoughts were in such a confused jumble that she was just coming to the full awareness of what she had done tonight when her father inopportunely entered the living room.

  "Why did Nick leave so early?" he questioned her sharply, arms folded across his chest. "I saw him leave and he certainly looked less than pleased about something. For God's sake, I hope you haven't managed to antagonize him somehow, Laine. If Latham doesn't receive that grant…"

  "To hell with the grant, Father," she said, turning on him with utter rage and disgust in her tone. She s
tood and walked past him into the foyer. "Right now, I don't give a damn about the grant and I don't give a damn about anything you have to say. I'm sick and tired of your constant faultfinding anyway… Excuse me. I'm going to bed."

  And she left him staring after her in stunned disbelief. Yet, even that gave her no satisfaction. In the privacy of her room, she made a soft almost wounded sound as she lay down across her bed. Drawing her knees up against her breasts, she wrapped her arms round her legs and closed her burning eyes to the soft glow of the vanity lamp.

  So, she had achieved her objective tonight. She had made the break with Nick now so he couldn't do it later, yet the spreading emptiness that ached inside her told her that hers had been a Pyrrhic victory at best. Maybe she had salvaged her pride, but pride was cold comfort when everything else was irretrievably lost.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Marge leaned in at the open doorway to Laine's office, a hopeful smile on her pleasant face. "Are you terrifically busy right now?" she inquired. "I've been wanting to talk to you, but if it's not convenient, I can come back later."

  "Now's fine," Laine mumbled around the paper clip pressed between her lips while she shuffled several file folders into a neat stack on her desk. Taking a somewhat impatient swipe back at the golden hair that tumbled across her forehead, she sat back in her aged swivel chair and gave Marge a genuine but almost restless smile. "Don't tell me another one of our little overimaginative charges has gone home and told his parents we spank them with 'great big old sticks' here."

  Marge chuckled wryly. "Not this time. Hopefully, only Myron Benson has that wild an imagination, so maybe that little fib won't be told on us again. And actually, I don't want to discuss anything school-related. What I have to say is personal this time." Her smile fading to nonexistence, she studiously examined her fingernails, then glanced back up at Laine uncertainly. "Honey," she said gently, "I really don't think you can go on much longer this way. You're never still a minute. If there's no work to do, you manufacture it, and after two weeks of pushing yourself to the limit of physical endurance, you're beginning to look more than tired. I'm so concerned about you."